UC-NRLF 


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GIFT  OF 


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DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA  AND 
OTHER  ONE  ACT  PLAYS 


DOLORES 
OF  THE  SIERRA 

And  Other 

ONE  ACT  PLAYS 

by 
HARRIET  HOLMES  HASLETT 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1917 

By  PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
SAN  FRANCISCO 

Professional  Dramatic  Rights  Reserved. 


THIS  VOLUME 

Is  HOPEFULLY  DEDICATED 

To  AN  IDEAL 


364'? 


PROLOGUE 

/  ask  of  you  who  read  these  bits  of  drama  to  receive  them,  not  as 
fiction,  but  as  fragments  of  the  human  life  about  you.  Read  be 
tween  the  lines,  piece  out  the  parts  with  your  own  knowledge  and 
emotions,  making  of  the  whole  a  fair-sized  square  of  that  patch 
work  which  is  called  eternity. 

Of  those  who  may  act  them  I  ask,  do  all  this  and  something 
more;  for  the  actor  must  receive  and  give.  Not  only  must  he  live 
the  life  of  his  chosen  character,  he  must  so  portray  it  that  others 
will  share  it  with  him.  Only  by  recognizing  life  as  it  is  can  he  do 
this. 

Thus  a  triple  partnership  is  formed — author,  reader,  actor — 
with  life  their  medium,  truth  their  guide.  So  equipped  they  ven 
ture  forth  on  the  stony  path  toward  success.  Ready?  The  cur 
tain  is  up! 

H.  H.  H. 


IV] 


CONTENTS 

Page 
PROLOGUE  ........         V 

DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA.    A  Mexican  Episode       .         .  i 

THE  SCOOP.  A  Dramatic  Sketch  .  .*  .  15 
UNDERCURRENTS.  A  Melodrama  .  -35 
A  MODERN  MENAGE.  A  Tragic  Farce  ....  49 
THE  INVENTOR.  A  Dramatic  Sketch  ....  67 
WHEN  LOVE  is  BLIND.  A  Comedy  ....  83 
EPILOGUE  .  97 


[VII] 


DOLORES  of  the  SIERRA    A  Mexican 

ILpisode 

"How  still  she  was!    She  only  knew  his  love. 
She  saw  no  life  beyond  .    .    .    .  " 


[CHARACTERS] 

LEWIS  BARCLAY,  a  railway  engineer. 
DOLORES,  a  child  of  nature. 

[SCENE] 

A  rocky  gulch  in  the  mountains  of  Mexico.  Luxuri 
ant  undergrowth  and  fallen  logs  form  the  foreground. 
At  right  center  is  a  large  tree-stump.  At  left  is  a 
fallen  log.  At  back  are  palmsy  cypresses  and  cacti. 
High  up  on  the  left  an  adobe  hut  is  seeny  from  which 
a  trail  runs  down  among  the  rocks,  ending  at  right 
center.  Half  way  up  the  trail  there  is  a  small  shrine. 


DOLORES  of  the  SIERRA 

^AT  curtain  rise  LEWIS  BARCLAY  enters  from  the  right.  He  is 
a  fine-looking  man  of  thirty-five,  alert,  well-dressed.  He  carries 
a  small  parcel,  a  note-book,  and  a  roll  of  architectural  blue-prints. 
He  looks  about  and  up  toward  the  hut.  He  whistles  a  sweet  bird 
call.  He  walks  restlessly  to  and  fro,  then  sits  on  the  fallen  log  at 
left,  and  examines  the  blue-prints.  There  is  a  faint  whistle  call 
in  the  distance,  he  answers,  then  thinking  he  is  mistaken  he  resumes 
his  study  of  the  prints.  There  comes  a  nearer,  louder  whistle;  he 
springs  up  with  a  response,  and  DOLORES  comes  quickly  down  the 
trail  from  left.  For  a  moment  she  stands  poised  above  him,  trans 
fixed  with  joy.  Her  great  dark  eyes  gleam  with  pleasure.  She 
wears  the  simple,  gay-colored  clothes  of  a  young  girl  of  the  people, 
and  her  dark  hair  is  drawn  loosely  back,  caught  up  in  a  soft  knot. 
BARCLAY  bounds  up  a  few  steps  to  meet  her,  and  she  throws  herself 
into  his  arms  as  a  child  might.  With  hands  clasped  about  his 
neck  she  looks  up  at  him  with  delight,  then  hand  in  hand,  laughing 
happily,  they  come  down  the  trail. 

DOLORES — [with  fond  murmurs,  caressing  his  cheeks  and  hair] 
Bonito  mio!  Bonito  mio!  You  have  come  back  to  me,  Santo 
Luis! 

BARCLAY — [drawing  away]  No,  no,  Dolores!    Not  that! 

DOLORES — Not ?    Ah,  you  have  come  back  to  me!    Madre 

de  Dios,  how  I  have  missed  you,  yes? 

BARCLAY — It  was  a  long  six  weeks,  eh,  little  one? 
DOLORES — Six  weeks?    Six.  years  it  was,  Santo  Luis  mio! 
BARCLAY — Don't  call  me  that,  Dolores!    If  you  only  knew! 
DOLORES — Not  call  you how? 

BARCLAY — I  am  no  saint,  God  knows!  Santa  Do/ores,  if  you 
will,  but  no  saint  in  mine if  you  love  me! 

DOLORES — [as  they  sit  together  on  the  log  at  left}  But  how  then  may 
I  call  you?  You  are  my saint,  you  say  in  El  Ingles? 

[3] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

BARCLAY — [seriously]  No,  amiguita,  Lewis  will  do.  You  need 
give  me  no  title. 

DOLORES — But "Luis" it  is  so  short such   a  little, 

little  name,  bonito  mio,  for  all  my  love  for  you! 

BARCLAY — Child,  child,  what  do  you  know  of  love,  you  wild 
flower  of  the  mountains! 

DOLORES — [nodding  wisely]  I  know!    The  flowers,  they  tell  me 

their  secrets the  birds,  they  sing the  trees,  the  sunshine, 

the  breezes  from  the  sea;  all,  all  the  beautiful  world  tells  me 
of  nothing  but  love,  love  and  you,  Santo  Luis  mio! 

BARCLAY — A  most  unworthy  subject!  Leave  me  out,  Dolores. 
See,  I  have  brought  you  a  present.  [He  gives  her  the  parcel} 

DOLORES — {delightedly}  For  me?  Ah,  muchas  gracias,  Santo 
Luis! 

BARCLAY — Don't  thank  me  too  soon;  you  may  not  like  it. 

DOLORES — {reproachfully}  Amigo  mio!  How  could  that  be? 
[She  opens  the  parcel,  disclosing  a  gay  silk  scarf.]  Ah,  que 
bonita!  Que  bonita!  [She  tosses  it  about  her  head  and  should 
ers.]  Gracias,  gracias,  Luis! 

BARCLAY — You  don't  need  any  frippery  of  that  sort.  I  like 
you  best  as  you  are,  my  wild  bird. 

DOLORES — But [coaxingfy] /  like  them!    Soon  you  will 

bring  me  more,  eh,  Luis  mio  ?     But  no [dinging  to  him] 

that  would  mean  to  go  away!     Never,  never  must  you  go 
away  again  from  me! 

BARCLAY — That's  a  big  promise,  Dolores.  Tell  me,  what  have 
you  been  doing  while  I've  been  away? 

DOLORES — [evasively]  But what  have  you  been  doing the 

many,  many  days?    You  tell  me  first. 

BARCLAY — My  affairs  wouldn't  interest  you  much.  It  was  prin 
cipally  work. 

DOLORES — It  was  for  rest  you  went bad  man ! 

BARCLAY — I  rested  too.  But,  enough  of  me!  What  have  you 
been  doing,  that's  the  point! 

[4] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

DOLORES — But not  much,  I  think only only 

BARCLAY — Only  ? 

DOLORES — I  did  help  Tia  Pacheco  with  tortillas  and  frijoles  for 
the  men,  and 

BARCLAY — [jealously]  I  don't  like  to  have  you  go  among  the  men, 
dear  one! 

DOLORES — But 1  like  to  see  your  work the  great,  beau 
tiful  bridge  you  have  made.  The  men ah,  leperos,  they  are 

lazy!  They  do  not  work  well  when  you  are  away.  They  stop 
all-the-time,  and  look  at  me ! 

BARCLAY — [laughing]  Naturally!     Why  should  they  work? 

DOLORES — And  one  man  told  me some  day  from  the  valley 

would  come,  over  the  bridge,  and  over  the  great  railroad  you 

have  made,  a  train like  a  bad,  black  snake,  to  steal  me  away. 

But  I  would  not  go,  Luis  mio!  [dinging  to  him]  I  would  not  go! 

BARCLAY — No,  no,  of  course  not,  ninita! 

DOLORES — We  will  stay  always  in  our  mountains,  you  and  me. 
I  hate  the  black  snake  that  tries  to  take  me  away  from  my 
Sierra  Madre! 

BARCLAY — It  shall  not  take  you  away,  Dolores Dolores  of 

the  Sierra! 

DOLORES — And  you  will  always  come  back  after  your your 

rest  in  the  world  far  away? 

BARCLAY — [hesitating]  Always ninita. 

DOLORES — What  have  you  done  there?  [imperiously]  Tell  me! 

BARCLAY — The  great  black  snake  from  down  the  valley  caught 
me  in  his  fangs  and  carried  me  far  away  to  his  home  in  the 

east,  where  men  live  like  bees  in  a  hive like  parts  of  a 

machine and  there  is  nothing  but  work work,  my  wild 

flower,  and  no  time  for  God's  sunshine! 

DOLORES — And  no  love,  Santo  Luis? 

BARCLAY — Precious  little of  the  real  thing. 

DOLORES — What  is  that "the  real  thing" amigo  mio? 

[51 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

BARCLAY — You  are  the  real  thing,  you  mountain  daisy!     Come 

what  have  you  been  doing?     Where  are  your  books? 

[with  mock  sternness]  You  have  not  spent  all  your  time  on 
frijoles  and  tortillas,  have  you? 

DOLORES — [goes  reluctantly  to  the  tree-stump  and  draws  forth  a 
slate,  pencil,  and  book.  She  sits  demurely ,  cross-legged,  at  his 
feet.}  I  have  not  read  much,  Padre,  since  you  were  gone. 

BARCLAY — Padre!  {laughing  heartily}  That's  a  good  one!  All 
your  saints  defend  me,  Dolores ! 

DOLORES — [seriously,  motioning  toward  the  shrine  and  crossing 
herself]  Laugh  not  at  the  saints!  They  hear  you,  Luis.  The 
blessed  saints,  they  care  for  us  in  all  we  do! 

BARCLAY — They  don't  waste  much  time  on  me!  Come,  give 
me  your  book.  Where  were  we?  You  were  getting  into 
words  of  two  syllables  when  I  went  away. 

DOLORES — [holding  the  book  behind  her]  Amigo  mio the  words 

were  so  long  and  hard  without  you! 

BARCLAY — But  you  speak  them;  why  not  learn  to  read  and  write 
them,  you  lazy  little  thing? 

DOLORES — I  speak  them,  yes,  because  you  have  taught  me;  and 
it  is  your  language  I  love  because  it  is  yours.  In  the  days 
long  ago  when  the  good  Padre  Corvelli  taught  me  El  Ingles, 

I  loved  it  not,  though  it  was  my  mother's  tongue but  it  is 

easy  when^o«  teach  me S Luis  mio! 

BARCLAY — [sighing]  Oh,  Dolores!    Dolores! 

DOLORES — You  have  come  back  sad  from  the  great  black  snake 
Why  is  that,  Luis? 

BARCLAY — Because  I sad?    Why  should  I  be  sad?  [taking 

her  book]  Come,  to  work!     [DOLORES,  resigned,  holds  her  slate 

and  pencil  ready .]    Let  me  see "The  cat  ate  the  rat" 

we  had  that,  hadn't  we? 

DOLORES — Poof!    May  he  die  of  it !    Yes. 

BARCLAY — What  a  blood-thirsty  wish!  Why  shouldn't  the  poor 
cat  enjoy  his  dinner?  [He  turns  the  leaves} 

[6] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

DOLORES — As  for  me 1  care  not  what  he  ate!    Luis  mio,  why 

must  I  write  of  cats  and  rats?  Never  do  I  think  of  them. 
Better  do  I  like  to  think  of  the  beautiful  flowers,  how  they  give 
their  honey  to  the  butterflies  and  bees. 

BARCLAY — It  seems  our  grim  destiny  that  we  must  first  learn 
about  the  cats  and  rats.  Later  we  come  to  the  flowers  and  bees, 

Dolores.    Ah,  here  we  are!   " Mary  was  a  good  little  girl, " 

[DOLORES   writes  slowly] "she   studied   her  lessons   every 

day,  and  did  many  useful  things." 

DOLORES — [making  some  erasures]  Cielos!  I  hate  that  Mary! 
She  was  so  good always  she  was  so  busy! 

BARCLAY — She  loved  her  teacher,  you  see,  and 

DOLORES — Ah,  when  you  speak  of  love!  She  knew  not  love. 
[snatching  the  book]  Let  me  see  Mary !  You  do  not  know  love, 
you  little  girl  in  a  book.  Poof!  [erasing]  See  how  I  rub  you  out 
on  my  slate!  You  are  all  wrong,  you  good,  busy  Mary! 

BARCLAY — [laughing]  Do  you  know  how  to  write  your  own  name, 
Dolores? 

DOLORES — No,  it  is  too  long.  Sometimes  I  cannot  even  re 
member  it  all! 

BARCLAY — How  is  that? 

DOLORES — I  have  many  names.     Some  were  given  to  me  at  my 

baptism pobrecita!    At  my  first  communion  I  took  more 

my  saints  gave  some  to  me.     Ah,  I  have  many  beautiful 

ones! 

BARCLAY — Tell  them  to  me  and  you  shall  learn  to  write  them. 

DOLORES — That  could  not  be,  Padre,  I  am  so  stupid.  [She 
counts  on  her  fingers.]  Maria,  Domitilla,  Concepcione,  Dolores, 
Lucia,  Guadalupe,  Carmencita,  Matilda,  Pacheco,  Juanita, 

see,  I  have  no  more  fingers,  and  yes two  more  names, 

but 1  have  forgotten  them ! 

BARCLAY — Why  were  you  called  Dolores?  Why  not  use  the 
others,  one  each  week? 

DOLORES — I  have  many  names,  yes;  but  only  one  means  me.  The 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

dear  mother,  when  her  last  sleep  was  soon  to  close  her  eyes,  said : 

"My  little  Dolores the  saints  in  dreams  have  told  me 

life  holds  grief  for  you,  and  tears."     But  I  think  she  made  a 
mistake,  the  mother!    The  saints  are  never  wrong,  but  she 

was  too  tired  to  understand because 

BARCLAY — Because  ? 

DOLORES — Because  life  holds  joy  for  me,  and  sunshine.  Listen 
Luis,  I  will  tell  you.  Long  ago  when  the  dear  mother  was 

dying que  santa  gloria  haya!  [crossing  herself]  she  told  me 

of  the  great  mountain  called  "Iztaceihautl" in  your  tongue 

you  would  say,  "The  White  Woman." 

BARCLAY — Yes,  one  sees  it  from  Chapultepec. 

DOLORES — Have  you  seen  "The  White  Woman"  lying  dead 

her  snow  hair  drifting  down  the  slopes?     The  Indians  tell  us, 
once  she  was  a how  you  call  it a  lady  giant? 

BARCLAY — A  giantess? 

DOLORES — A  gian/m,  yes!  And  the  other  great  mountain  near, 
"The  Smoking  Mountain,"  he  was  a  giant  too.  But  so  proud 
were  they,  they  would  always  do  just-as-they -liked!  So  one 
day  the  great  God,  he  was  angry,  and  said:  "You  shall  be 
mountains!"  Ah,  the  poor  "White  Woman,"  her  heart  was 
broken,  and  she  died  at  once!  But  ever  her  lover  must  live 
where  he  can  see  her  lifeless  body.  Sometimes  he  shakes  the 
earth  with  his  sobs,  and  his  tears  come  forth  like  fire. 

BARCLAY — Poor  old  chap!  I  forgive  him  his  spouting  now. 
But  what  have  you  to  do  with  "The  White  Woman, "ninita? 

DOLORES — The  dear  mother,  she  too  was  a  "white  woman." 
Always  she  said,  she  was  too  proud.  She  liked  her  own  way 
too  well,  and  left  her  people;  so  the  dear  God  punished  her. 

To  me  she  gave  the  name  Dolores,  because because 

she  thought  I  was  a  child  of  tears. 

BARCLAY — You,  my  sunbeam,  my  wild  bird? 

DOLORES — Always  I  like  to  laugh  and  dance,  yes?  [She  draws 
a  small  revolver  from  its  holster  at  her  side.]  I  carry  my  little 
friend  here see to  fight  the  tears  away! 

[8] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

BARCLAY — That's  a  dangerous  plaything,  Dolores.  I  am  sorry 
I  gave  it  to  you. 

DOLORES — It  is  not  for  play  I  wear  it.     You  taught  me  for  a 

game,  yes,  but  it  takes  care  of  me yet,  always  must  I  do 

my  own  way.  Will  the  great  God  punish  me,  Luis?  [She 
replaces  the  revolver.]  Poof!  I  will  not  write!  [jumping  up  and 
catching  his  hand]  Let  us  sing,  and  dance and  love  the  sun 
shine and  our  dear  Madre  mountains Santo  Luis! 

BARCLAY — [drawing  her  down  beside  him  on  the  log]  Come,  Dolores, 
I  think  I  can  give  you  something  you  will  like  to  write.  Write 

this:  "I  love  my  beautiful  mountains 1  love  my  birds  and 

flowers 1  love  my  teacher,  Luis and  bye  and  bye  when 

the  great  bridge  is  finished,  and  he  has  gone  away " 

DOLORES — [jumping  up,  frightened]  When  are  you  going  away, 
Santo  Luis? 

BARCLAY — [rising,  takes  her  in  his  arms]  Dolores,  dear  one!  I 
can't  stay  here  always  in  these  beautiful  mountains.  Some 
day  the  bridge  will  be  finished,  and  my  men  and  I  will  work 
swiftly  down  into  the  Tierras  Calientes,  and  out  again  into  the 
busy  world. 

DOLORES — Then  I  go  too,  amigo  mio! 

BARCLAY — What  would  you  do  in  the  busy  world,  lazy  one  ? 

DOLORES — I  would  be  always  with  you,  Luis. 

BARCLAY — [A  look  of  pain  comes  over  his  face.]    The  world 

out  there holds  no  place  for  you with  me,  Dolores.   [He 

puts  her  away  from  him.] 

DOLORES — Why?  Who  cares  where  I  go?  Tia  Pacheco  would  not 
care.  There  would  not  be  so  many  tortillas  to  make.  She 
would  be  glad. 

BARCLAY — Tia  Pacheco  will  take  care  of  you  when  I  am  gone. 

DOLORES — But  I  will  go  with  you!     I  am  alone who  will 

miss  me?     You  are  alone together  we  will  go! 

BARCLAY — I 1  am  not  alone  in  the  world  out  there,  Dolores. 

I  have there  are  people  who  care  for  me,  and 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

DOLORES — Basta!  I  love  not  people!  They  are  like  that  busy 
Mary  in  the  book!  [catching  up  the  book,  she  throws  it  violently 
down]  Do  they  love  you,  these  people  ? 

BARCLAY — [hesitating]  Yes. 
DOLORES — Not  as  Dolores  loves  you! 
BARCLAY — [sternly]  No! 

DOLORES — Ah,  you  are  cross  again!  Is  it  because  you  do  not 
love  Dolores  as  she  loves  you,  Santo  Luis? 

BARCLAY — I  love  you  as  you  love  me?    No ninita!     A  man 

does  not  love  as  a  woman  does! 

DOLORES — [laughing]  But a  woman?    A  beautiful  senora  with 

lace  mantilla?  All  down  El  Paseo  they  ride  to  the  Fiestas. 
I  have  seen  them  long  ago.  Oh,  no,  Luis,  Dolores  is  not  a 
woman! 

BARCLAY — [catching  her  hand}  What  then,  you  witch? 

DOLORES — {dancing  away]  A  bird perhaps a  breeze  on  the 

hills a  flower! 

BARCLAY — [catching  her  in  his  arms]  Yes,  yes you  are  all 

those and  yet,  a  woman!  Dolores! Dolores!    [Suddenly 

he  turns  from  her,  and  sinking  down  on  the  log,  covers  his  face 
with  his  hands.] 

DOLORES — [runs  and  kneels  beside  him]  Santo  Luis  mio!  Look 
up!  What  has  Dolores  done?  Tell  me,  dear  one! 

BARCLAY — It  is  nothing,  amiguita it  is  nothing.     I'm  tired, 

I  think;  that  is  all.  Run  away  now;  I  have  some  work  to  do. 
[His  head  sinks  again.] 

DOLORES — I  know!  You  are  hungry,  amigo  mio.  When  did 
you  eat?  At  sunrise?  Ah,  bad  one!  See  how  high  the  sun 
is  now!  Quick,  quick  I  must  call  Tia  Pacheco  to  bring  your 
frijoles  [caressing  his  hair]  Adios,  Santo  Luis  mio!  Soon 
will  I  call  Tia.  [She  goes  hurriedly  up  the  trail  and  out  of 
sight.] 

BARCLAY — [Remains  a  moment  with  bowed  head,  then  slowly  rises 

[10] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

and  looks  after  her.  He  walks  restlessly  about,  picks  up  her 
slate  and  book  and  places  them  gently  on  the  tree-stump.] 

Beast! Coward! What  shall  I  do  with  you,  my  "breeze 

of  the  hillside" Little  Saint  of  the  Sierra! My  God! 

[He  sits  on  the  log,  takes  two  small  photographs,  a  woman's  and  a 
child's  from  his  pocket-book,  and  gazes  at  them.] 

Yes,  you  may  look  at  me  with  your  cold  eyes,  Edith! When 

did  you  ever  give  me  one  hundredth  part  of  the  love  that  this 
child  of  the  hills  does?  You  have  let  me  leave  you  year  after 
year.  What  do  you  care  about  my  work?  Would  you  follow 
me  to  these  mountains  and  give  me  the  love  that  every  man 

craves?    No you  stay  with  the  life  that  amuses  you,  and 

I must  live  alone!     Dolores! Dolores,  child  of  grief! 

Am  I  the  dastard  who  brings  you  tears  ?  [looking  at  the  child's 
picture]  If  it  were  not  for  you,  little  chap,  I'd  cut  the  life  of 
the  east  altogether. 

[DOLORES  appears  at  the  top  of  the  trail.  She  wears  the  full 
calico  skirt  and  shawl  over  head  of  an  old  woman.  She  comes 
down,  carrying  an  earthen  pot  of  frijoles,  a  tin  of  coffee  and  a 
cup;  also  some  tortillas  tied  up  in  a  napkin.  She  steals  softly 
down,  peering  mischievously  at  BARCLAY.  Half-way  the  im 
pulse  comes  to  conceal  her  face.  She  stops  and  putting  down 
the  things  she  carries,  pins  her  shawl  closely  about  her  head, 
almost  concealing  her  face.] 

BARCLAY — [hastily  rising  when  he  sees  her,  and  absently  dropping 
the  photographs  as  he  pockets  his  case]  Hello,  Tia  Pacheco! 
Buenos  dias! 

DOLORES— [mumbling,  when  she  reaches  the  foot  of  the  trail]  Buenos 
dias,  Senor. 

BARCLAY — You  didn't  waste  any  time.     Did  you  meet  Dolores? 

DOLORES— Si,  senor.  [She  busies  herself  spreading  the  tortillas 
on  the  log,  and  placing  the  frijoles  and  the  pot  of  coffee.] 

BARCLAY— Was  she  happy  while  I  was  away,  Tia? 
DOLORES— [mumbling]  Quien  sabe?     Madre  de  Dios! 

In] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

BARCLAY — [walking   restlessly    about]    Tia! Tia!       You    old 

woman,  what  can  you  understand,  I  wonder?  Do  you  know 
that  I  must  go  away — away  where  more  bridges  are  to  be 

built more  railroads?    [DOLORES  starts,  and  mutters.]     You 

poor  old  fool,  what  do  you  know  of  such  things  ? You  are 

to  take  care  of  Dolores,  do  you  hear?  Teach  her  to  forget 
me!  [DOLORES  shrinks  back;  she  sees  the  photographs ,  picks 
them  up  and  examines  them.  Then  she  draws  the  shawl  closer 
and  holds  the  pictures  out  to  BARCLAY.  He,  meanwhile,  has 
picked  up  a  tortilla,  then  puts  it  down  distastefully^ 

DOLORES — Senor!     The  senora the  muchacho? 

BARCLAY — [laughing  wildly]  That's  my  senora,  Tia my  wife; 

and  my  muchacho!     My  boy  should  be  proud  of  his  father, 

shouldn't  he,  Tia? 

[DOLORES  shrinks  back  against  the  rocks  with  a  smothered  cry. 

She  drops  the  pictures.     Underneath  her  shawl  her  hands  are 

busy.] 

I've  just  been  to  see  them,  old  woman,  and  I'm  going  back 
to  them  soon.  You've  got  to  keep  Dolores  for  me,  do  you 
hear?  I've  been  here  long  enough.  When  my  work  is  fin 
ished  I  shall  go  back  to  my  wife  and  boy. 

DOLORES — [with  a  smothered  cry  springs  at  him.  Her  up-raised 
hand  holds  the  revolver.  He  catches  her  arm  as  she  pulls  the 
trigger,  and  she  fires  into  the  air.  Her  shawl  falls  back  revealing 
her  face.  The  power  of  his  gaze  compels  her  grasp  on  the  weapon 
to  relax  and  it  falls  to  the  ground.  She  sinks  down  moaning 
at  his  feet.] 

BARCLAY — [trying  to  raise  her]  Dolores! Dolores! 

DOLORES — Santo  Luis! Santo  Luis!     Ah,  Madre  de  Dios! 

The  tears  have  come,  and  you  have  brought  them,  Santo  Luis! 
You  steal  away  my  happiness  and  give  me  tears.  [He  tries 
again  to  raise  her;  she  springs  up  madly  at  his  touch.]  Take 

away  your  hands! Why  did  you  come  to  my  mountains? 

Ay,  Dios  mio!     Now  I  know  what  means  the  great  black 

snake!     You  are  the  black  snake you you!     [BARCLAY 

can  say  nothing.     He  stands  convicted  by  the  torrent  of  her 

[12] 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

rage  and  grief.]     You  come,  creeping  up  my  beautiful  Sierra 

and  bring  me  tears  and  sorrow! Cristo!    Cristo!    [She 

looks  about  for  her  revolver,  but  BARCLAY  intercepts  her  and  picks 
it  up.  He  places  it  on  the  tree-stump  with  her  book  and  slate 
and  stands  in  front  of  her.}  Ah,  you  need  not  be  afraid,  you 

you  coward!     I  will  not  kill  you  now 1  think  perhaps 

perhaps  you  will  suffer  more if  you  live!    You  make 

Dolores  suffer,  you  must  suffer  too! Maybe  you  like  to  go 

back  to  your  senora and   remember remember  always 

Dolores  of  the  Sierra?    That  make  you  happy yes? 

BARCLAY — [groans  and  covers  his  face]  I  can  never  forget  you, 
Dolores Dolores ! 

DOLORES — You  take  away  my  happiness  and  keep  it  yourself. 
That  make  you  feel  good,  I  think!  [She  snatches  the  photo 
graphs  from  the  ground.]  She  is  your  wife! 1  hate  you — 

you  pale  woman!  [Her  wild  expression  changes,  and  she  looks 
piteously  at  BARCLAY.]  She  does  not  love  you  as  Dolores  does. 
She  knows  not  love — she  is  white  and  cold!  She  cannot  love 
you  as  Dolores  can !  [She  crushes  the  picture  and  drops  it.] 

BARCLAY — No that  is  true.  Dolores,  you  are  the  one  I  love. 

But my  boy 1  cannot  leave  him!  He  loves  me,  he  be 
lieves  in  me. 

DOLORES — [looking  at  the  boy's  picture]  Ah,  muchacho  mio!  He 

is  you you  again,  Luis!  Luis,  Luis,  Santo  Luis!  [She 

sinks,  sobbing,  on  the  fallen  log.} 

BARCLAY — [kneeling  beside  her,  raises  her  in  his  arms]  Listen 

dear  one!  Oh,  my  God,  what  can  I  say  to  you!  [He  holds  her 
in  his  arms  and  kisses  her.  For  a  moment  she  yields,  then  her 
anger  again  breaks  forth.] 

DOLORES — Keep  your  kisses  for  your  wife,  you you  snake  of 

the  mountains!  Ay,  Dios  mio Dios  mio!  [Rising,  she  stag 
gers  across  to  the  tree-stump,  and  leans  against  it,  looking  at  the 
boy's  picture.} 

BARCLAY — \followsher]  I  love  my  boy,  Dolores;  and  when  I  was 
at  home  and  looked  into  his  clear  eyes,  I  knew  that  I  must 
go  back  to  him. 

DOLORES — [still  looking  at  the  picture]  Ah,  bonito bonito !  Yes, 

[131 


DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA 

you  must  go  back,  Luis,  to  this  little  one.  Dolores  will  wait 

for  you  here. Every  year  you  will  come  again  to  the 

Sierra,  yes? 

BARCLAY — Yes,  amiguita,  if  it  be  possible. 

DOLORES — Every  year in  the  spring when  the  long  snow- 
hair  of  the  "  White  Woman  "  grows  shorter,  you  will  come,  Luis  ? 

BARCLAY — Every  year in  the  spring,  Dolores! 

DOLORES — See  then happiness  will  come  back   to  me!     I 

will  be  busy,  and  laugh and  sing  again.     [She  gives  him  the 

boy's  picture.]  Go  back  to  your  beautiful  little  one,  Luis. 
Take  happiness  to  him.  [She  goes  toward  the  tree-stump, 
BARCLAY  follows  her  apprehensively.}  Ah,  do  not  fear,  I  am 
calm  now.  See,  I  smile  again!  [BARCLAY  picks  up  the  re 
volver.]  Give  it  to  me.  Once  more  it  will  keep  the  tears 
from  me.  [He  gives  her  the  revolver  and  she  replaces  it  in  its 

holster.]    You  go  not  away  soon no?    You  have  still  many 

days  to  work  before  the  great  bridge  is  finished  ? 

BARCLAY — Some  weeks  yet  I  think. 

DOLORES — Bueno!  You  can  still  be  with  me  then  for  many  days 
and  I  will  be  calm so  calm  and  still,  Luis! 

BARCLAY — That's  my  good  Dolores!  Ninita  mia!  [He  tries  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  repulses  him.] 

DOLORES — No no  more  kisses,  amigo  mio!     I  must  go,  Luis 

Tia  will  need  me.     Pobre  Tia she  is  so  old! 

BARCLAY — Till  tomorrow  then ninita! 

DOLORES — Till    tomorrow,    Luis and    all    the    tomorrows! 

[She  catches  his  hand  and  kisses  it,  then  runs  lightly  up  the  trail. 
He  stands  at  the  foot,  watching  her.  When  she  reaches  the  shrine 
she  drops  for  a  moment  on  her  knees  before  it;  then,  rising,  turns 
and  faces  him.] 

Till  tomorrow and  forever Luis!  The  "White  Woman" 

is  calling  me Santo  Luis!  Santo  Luis!  [Drawing  her  re 
volver  she  turns  it  on  her  breast,  and  pulls  the  trigger. As  he 

reaches  her  she  falls  into  his  arms,  but  the  form  he  holds  is  life 
less.  The  "White  Woman"  has  called  home  her  "child  of 
tears."] 

[Hi 


THE  SCOOP  •  A  Dramatic  Sketch 


[CHARACTERS] 

WHITNEY  RAYMOND,  cashier  for  Coleman  Brothers. 

EDITH,  his  daughter. 

RUSSELL  WHEELER,  reporter  on  "The  Herald." 

[SCENE] 

The  Raymonds'  living-room.  It  is  comfortably  fur 
nished.  There  is  a  center  entrance  leading  into  the  hall. 
Through  the  open  portieres  a  portable  telephone  on  a 
small  stand  is  seen,  also  a  hat-rack  or  hall  chair. 
There  is  a  window,  upper  left,  with  a  tabouret  and 
chair  near.  At  right  a  door  leads  into  a  bedroom. 
There  is  a  reading  table  with  books,  magazines, 
papers,  and  flowers  down  right  center.  An  easy  chair 
and  a  straight  chair  are  left  and  right  of  the  table.  A 
small  couch  with  cushions  is  down  left.  A  small  chair 
is  up  left  center,  and  a  mantel  and  clock  are  at  upper 
right. 


THE  SCOOP  •  A  Dramatic  Sketch 


T  curtain  EDITH  sits  sewing  near  the  window.  One  does  not 
see  her  at  first.  The  high  back  of  her  chair  conceals  her^  but  her 
voice  is  heard  humming  a  love  song.  Dropping  her  work  she  gazes 
out  the  window^  then  rises ,  still  humming. 

A  postman  s  whistle  is  heard  and  a  letter  is  dropped  into  the  hall. 
EDITH  goes  through  the  portieres^  and  returns  with  the  letter. 

She  saunters  about^  smiling  and  catching  her  breath  as  she  silently 
reads.  Once  she  shakes  her  head.  With  the  letter  in  her  hand  she 
tip-toes  to  the  bedroom  door,  opens  it  softly  and  listens  a  moment. 

EDITH — Did  you  call  me,  mother?  [glancing  at  the  clock]  Yes, 
mother  dear,  it  is  time  for  your  medicine.  I'll  bring  it  to  you. 
The  new  bottle  is  here.  Did  the  postman's  whistle  waken  you  ? 
Too  bad!  [in  response  to  a  question  from  within]  No  letters 
for  you.  Hm? Oh,  this  one  is  from  Mr.  Wheeler!  [get 
ting  the  medicine  bottle  from  the  table]  He  wants  to  come  to 
see  me  this  afternoon.  I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to 
do  with  him.  Why,  I've  only  known  him  two  weeks!  [She 
goes  into  the  bedroom.] 

[The  telephone  rings  twice  with  an  interval  between.     EDITH  has 
tens  from  the  bedroom  and  answers.] 

Hello! Yes? 1259,  yes! Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Wheeler! 

I'm  always  well,  thank  you. Why,  I've  just  received  it. 

Yes,  the  postman  was  awfully  late  today. Well,  I 

yes I'll  be  at  home  this  afternoon;  be  glad  to  see  you! 

Hm? Which  discussion  do  you  wish  to  continue? Both? 

Oh,  no,  no!    Not  yet!    How  could  I  decide  so  soon? 

Yes,  you  may  come  right  away,  if  you  like. She's  feeling  a 

little  better  today,  thanks. No,  I  don't  think  you'll  disturb 

her. All  right,  see  you  in  a  little  while! [laughing]  No, 

I    tell   you,  I  haven't!     I  haven't! No!    NO!     Good-byl 

[She  hangs  up  and  goes  to  the  bedroom  door.]     Mr.  Wheeler  is 
coming  to  see  me  this  afternoon,  mother.     You  don't  mind,  do 


THE  SCOOP 

you?  Would  you  like  to  sleep  again?  I'll  pull  down  the 
shades.  [She  goes  into  the  bedroom.] 

[WHITNEY  RAYMOND  enters  from  the  hall.] 

[He  is  an  elderly  man,  nervous  and  care-worn.  His  clothes  are 
shabby.  He  leaves  his  overcoat  and  hat  on  the  hall-stand,  puts 
the  newspaper  which  he  carries  on  the  reading  table.  With  a 
gesture  of  weariness  he  goes  to  the  couch  and  sits.] 

[EDITH  enters.     She  closes  the  bedroom  door  softly.] 

EDITH — Daddy!  Why  are  you  home  so  early?  [RAYMOND  looks 
helplessly  at  her  and  holds  his  head  in  his  hands.]  What  is  it, 
dear?  Headache? 

RAYMOND — [vaguely]  I  don't  know,  Edie.  Headache — heartache 
everything ! 

EDITH — [caressing  his  head\  Poor  old  dad!  Lie  down  awhile. 
What  shall  I  give  you?  A  nice  cool  drink? 

RAYMOND — [leaning  against  her]  Little  cool  fingers !  I  think  it  is 
rest  I  want  more  than  anything  else. 

EDITH — Then  rest  here,  dad.  [He  lies  down  and  she  makes  him 
comfortable.] 

RAYMOND — [with  closed  eyes]  How  is  mother  this  afternoon  ? 

EDITH — I  really  think  she's  better  today.  She  is  quite  comfort 
able  now. 

RAYMOND — That's  good  news. 

EDITH — She  has  just  taken  a  dose  of  her  new  medicine.  That 
always  gives  her  hope,  you  know. 

RAYMOND — And  how  is  my  little  "stand-by,"  housekeeper, 
head-nurse? 

EDITH — Never  better!  [brightly]  Dad!  I've  got  a  splendid  plan. 
I  was  just  inventing  it  as  I  sat  sewing  by  the  window.  Every 
thing  is  so  green  and  lovely  here  now;  think  what  the  moun 
tains  must  be  like! 

RAYMOND — [opens  his  eyes  and  smiles  faintly]  Think  of  brush- 

[18] 


THE  SCOOP 

ing  your  way  through  a  bed  of  cool  green  brakes  and  hearing 
the  stream  down  below  calling  to  you! 

EDITH— [briskly]  That's  just  it! 
RAYMOND — Eh? 

EDITH — My  plan.  You're  to  ask  Coleman  Brothers  for  an 
extra  vacation  this  year.  [RAYMOND  protests.]  What's  two 
weeks  when  a  man  has  given  them  the  long  years  of  faithful 
service  that  you  have? 

RAYMOND — [sitting  up]  Oh,  no,  no!    I  couldn't  do  that. 

EDITH — Well,  if  you  don't,  I  will!  [She  walks  to  the  right,  imi 
tating.]  I'll  go  straight  down  town  tomorrow  morning  and 
march  into  Mr.  Coleman's  office  and  say:  "Good-morning, 
Mr.  Coleman;"  (of  course  I'll  remember  to  be  polite!)  "my 
father's  not  well;  he  needs  a  whole  month  in  the  mountains 
this  year.  When  can  he  go?"  And  the  benevolent  Mr.  Cole 
man  will  say:  [sarcastically,  stroking  an  imaginary  beard\  "Why 
certainly,  Miss  Raymond,  he  may  take  July;  and  here's  his 
salary,  doubled  in  advance,  for  expenses!"  [laughing] 

RAYMOND — [breaking  down  and  covering  his  face]  My  God,  child, 
don't! 

EDITH — [kneeling  beside  him]  Daddy!  Daddy!  What  have  I 
done  ? 

RAYMOND — [with  a  sudden  resolve]  You  have  been  a  staunch  little 
pal  all  through,  Edith.  Through  the  pain  of  sister  Nell's 
death — then  the  baby's.  Now  your  mother's  illness!  You 
have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  all  that. 

EDITH — But  what  could  I  have  done  without  you? 

RAYMOND — Ah,  that's  the  hard  part!  What  will  become  of  you 
when  you  have  to  do  without  me?  Can  your  tired  little 
shoulders  bear  another  burden  ? 

EDITH — I'm  not  a  bit  tired;  I'm  quite  well.  But  what  do  you 
mean,  dad? 

RAYMOND — You've  got  to  know,  dear.  I'd  rather  you'd  hear  it 
from  me  first.  Your  brave  heart  will  help  me  to  face  it,  and 
keep  it  from  mother  if  we  can. 

[19! 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH— Dad !    What  is  it  ? 

RAYMOND — [drawing  her  closer  to  him]  You  remember  the  Cuban 
Sugar  Company  I  bought  into  that  time,  and  the  failure  after 
ward?  [EoiTH  nods.]  Well,  that  took  about  all  I  had. 

EDITH — I  never  knew  how  much  went;  you  didn't  tell  me. 

RAYMOND — Why  should  I  have  bothered  your  poor  little  head 
with  my  mistakes?  There  was  the  bank  failure  before  that, 
and  I  depended  upon  the  Cuban  investment  to  pull  me  up  again. 

EDITH — And  you  had  nothing  left? 

RAYMOND — Nothing,  except  my  health  and  my  salary.  I  didn't 
let  your  mother  know  the  extent  of  our  losses.  She  had 
enough  to  bear  at  that  time,  poor  little  mother! 

EDITH — Yes that's  right. 

RAYMOND — [hesitating]  It  began with  Nell's  funeral  expenses. 

EDITH— Father !  What  ? Oh,  no !     [She  shrinks  back.] 

RAYMOND — Yes it  was  that!     I  couldn't  put  my  pride  in  my 

pocket  and  ask  a  friend  for  money.  I  used  Firm  funds.  There 
they  were,  going  through  my  hands  every  day.  [EDITH  listens 
with  intensity.]  Then,  once  done,  it  was  easier  to  do  it  again. 
Hospital  expenses  for  your  mother,  her  last  year's  trip  to  the 


mountams- 


EDITH — And  mine? 

RAYMOND — Yes,  and  yours.     Then Baby  Jean's  operation 

yet,  it  didn't  save  her.     A  poor  man's  child  can't  afford 

appendicitis!     You  see,  no  one  knew  how  poor  I  was. 

EDITH — I  always  wondered  how  you  did  it ! 

RAYMOND — I  suppose  others  wondered  too;  but  I  don't  think 
anyone  suspects. 

EDITH — [springing  up]  Suspects!     You,  daddy? 

RAYMOND — It  is  an  ugly  word,  Edie.     It  comes  before  disgrace. 

EDITH — [excitedly]  There's  no  disgrace!  You  did  it  for  love; 
yes,  you  did!  [Thinking  of  her  mother,  she  takes  a  step  or  two 
toward  the  bedroom  door.] 

[20] 


THE  SCOOP 

RAYMOND — But  disgrace  will  come,  [rising]  I  feel  it  now  in  this 
weight  oppressing  me.  I  cannot  stand  it  any  longer.  I  must 
confess  it  to  my  employers! 

EDITH — Then  disgrace  will  come  only  in  what  other  people  think ! 

RAYMOND — [walking  up  and  down]  I  must  take  my  chances. 
The  world  is  always  ready  with  its  judgment,  good  or  bad. 

EDITH — The  world!  The  world  doesn't  know  what  it  thinks! 
A  few  newspapers  and  magazines  tell  it  what  it  thinks;  that's  all! 

RAYMOND — That  is  the  "Power  of  the  Press." 
EDITH — [indignantly]  And  they  don't  use  it  right! 
RAYMOND — [going  to  her]  Is  this  my  little  optimist  speaking? 
EDITH — [ruefully]  An  optimist  out  of  a  job  for  a  few  minutes. 

RAYMOND — I  need  all  your  bravery  to  help  me.  I  shall  tell 
Mr.  Coleman  tomorrow  morning.  I  came  home  early  today 
to  rest,  and  to  tell  you  if  I  had  the  courage.  [He  sits  again  on 
the  couch.]  I  had  it  out  with  myself  last  night.  We'll  not 
speak  of  it  yet  to  your  mother.  The  Firm  may  be  lenient  and 
give  me  another  chance,  so  we'll  spare  your  mother  needless 
anxiety,  eh,  dear  ? 

EDITH — [kneeling  beside  him]  Oh,  dad !    Must  you  tell  them  ? 

RAYMOND — [turning  her  face  toward  him]  Look  at  me  straight, 
Edith! 

EDITH — [looking  at  him  a  moment,  her  gaze  falters]  Yes you 

must! 

RAYMOND — I'll  go  to  the  junior  partner,  Henry;  he  is  not  so 
hard  as  the  senior,  [thinking  he  hears  a  call  from  the  bedroom} 
Is  that  your  mother  calling?  I'll  go  to  her  and  rest  on  the 
couch  in  her  room.  [He  takes  EDITH  in  his  arms.]  My  brave 
little  partner! 

EDITH— Oh,  it's  you,  daddy!  It's  you  that's  brave.  [The  door 
bell  rings.] 

RAYMOND — [nervously]  Who's  that? 

EDITH — It  is  probably  Mr.  Wheeler.     You  know  I   told  you 

[21] 


THE  SCOOP 

about  him.  He's  on  "The  Herald/'  He  just  phoned  that 
he  was  coming  out  for  awhile.  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  I'd  told 
him  not  to  come! 

RAYMOND — [hastening  into  the  bedroom]  I  must  go. 

[EDITH  hurriedly  picks  up  her  sewing  and  stands  near  the  win 
dow.] 

[RUSSELL  WHEELER  enters  briskly  from  the  hall.  He  puts  his 
hat  and  gloves  on  the  hall-stand.] 

WHEELER — Hello,  little  girl! 

EDITH — [going  forward  and  shaking  hands]  How  d'ye  do,  Mr. 
Wheeler? 

WHEELER — Bully!  How  are  you?  [surveying  her]  What's  the 
matter? 

EDITH — Why why what  do  you  mean?     I'm  all  right; 

really  I  am! 

WHEELER — No  you're  not!  [ironically]  You  look  as  if  you  had 
"lost  your  job." 

EDITH — [laughing  uncertainly]  Nonsense! 

RAYMOND — That's  no  joke.  Is  your  mother  worse?  This  sick- 
nurse  business  is  too  much  for  you. 

EDITH — I'm  not  tired;  honestly  I'm  not.  Father  came  home 
early  today;  he  is  with  mother  now.  [She  sits  on  the  couch , 
and  motions  for  him  to  take  a  chair.  He  sits  at  left  of  the  table.] 

WHEELER — I'd  like  to  meet  your  father.  You  know  I  have 
never  even  seen  him. 

EDITH — He's  rather  tired  today.    He's not  feeling  well.    He 

came  home  to  rest.     [She  gets  her  sewing  from  the  tabouret.] 

WHEELER — So  you  have  two  sick  people  to  take  care  of! 

EDITH — He's  not  really  sick;  he's  tired  from  overwork;  but  he 
expects  a  good  long  vacation  soon.  [She  sews.] 

WHEELER — That's  the  dope!  I  don't  see  why  employers  don't 
think  of  that  oftener.  Most  of  them  treat  their  men  like 
machines. 

[22] 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH — [sadly]  Yes,  but  the  poor  machines  have  cares,  and  over 
strained  nerves,  and oh,  everything 

WHEELER — [sympathetically]  Yes  ? And ? 

EDITH — [recovering  herself  with  a  start]  Well er let's  con 
tinue  our  discussion. 

WHEELER — Discussion  ?    What  discussion  ? 

EDITH — Why,  newspaper  work,  you  know.  The  ethics  of  getting 
a  "scoop." 

WHEELER — Um-hum!  But  I  was  thinking  of  something  else. 
Of  you!  Can't  you  give  me  a  little  bit  of  hope,  Edith? 

EDITH — Only that 1  like  you  very  much. 

WHEELER — That's  something! 
EDITH — That  is  all  I  can  say  now. 
WHEELER — Well,  I  am  going  to  hope  on  that. 
EDITH — Why,  we  only  met  two  weeks  ago! 

WHEELER — Yes,  but  you  said  yourself  that  you  felt  as  though 
we  had  known  each  other  before. 

EDITH — Yes,  I  know. 

WHEELER — [impetuously,  sitting  on  the  couch  beside  her  and  taking 
her  hand}  And  I  felt  so,  too!  Why,  even  last  week  I  knew  you 
were mine! 

EDITH — [rising  quickly,  goes  to  the  table]  Did  you?  How  interest 
ing!  [teasing]  Do  you  always  make  "copy"  in  a  mad  rush  like 
this  ?  Am  /  a  "  scoop  "  ? 

WHEELER — No!  If  you  were  a  "scoop,"  I'd  have  played  you 
up  with  a  seven-column  head,  and  run  you  that  night! 

EDITH — [tantalizingly,  sits  left  of  the  table}  Gracious,  how  nice! 
You  mean  a  big,  scary  headline  ? 

WHEELER — You  don't  believe  me,  do  you? 

EDITH — No.    It  takes  two  to  make  a  "scoop"  of  that  kind. 

WHEELER — Yes,  it  does,  worse  luck! When  do  you  think 

you  will  know,  Edith? 

[231 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH — Know  what? 

WHEELER — If  you  will  marry  me? 

EDITH — Honestly,  Mr.  Wheeler,  I  haven't  the  least  idea.  We 
must  become  better  acquainted,  [sadly]  It  may  be  a  long  time, 
and  you  may  have  changed  your  mind  by  then. 

WHEELER — Never! Don't  you  think  it  might  make  you  feel 

better  acquainted  if  you  called  me  Russell? 

EDITH — Perhaps!  [teasing]  I'll  practice  it  to  myself  first! 

WHEELER — [rising]  Good!  We're  progressing.  You  may  get 
that  "write-up"  sooner  than  you  think.  [He  goes  to  the  table , 
picks  up  a  newspaper,  demonstrating.  EDITH  rises  and  looks 
over  the  paper  with  him.]  Headline:  "The  Latest  Engage 
ment,"  in  regular  color-scheme,  dainty-refreshment-style, 
photo,  et  cetera!  Much  better  than  "Broken  Hearts,"  written 
in  "sob  stuff." 

EDITH — [teasing]  How  romantic!    Oh,  I  should  love  that! 

WHEELER— That's   what   takes   with   the   "Dear   Public."    I 

always  like  to  give  it  what  it  wants. 
EDITH — [returning  to  the  couch]  How  are  you  getting  on  with  your 

work?    Do  you  like  it  better  here  than  in  your  own  "home 

town"? 

WHEELER — [sitting on  the  edge  of  the  table]  So,  so!  Humans  are 
doing  about  the  same  things  everywhere.  You  run  against 
the  same  kind  of  "copy  "in  every  town.  Auto  smash-ups,  de 
faulting  cashiers,  [EDITH  winces]  college-student-elopements, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  The  main  thing  is  to  get  a  "scoop." 
That's  what  counts. 

EDITH — And  nothing  else? 

WHEELER — No,  gee  whiz!  Why  should  it?  If  I  can  get  a  line 
on  a  story  ahead  of  the  next  fellow,  it's  mine ! 

EDITH — A  "line"?  You  mean  only  a  rumor?  Don't  you  wait 
to  confirm  it?  [She  sews.] 

WHEELER — [moves  to  the  chair  left  of  the  table]  My  dear  girl,  while 
I  am  waiting,  John  Smith  is  scooping  it. 

[24-1 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH— Oh,  it  shouldn't  be  like  that! 

WHEELER — No,  it  shouldn't,  but  //  is. 

EDITH — And  would  nothing  stand  in  your  way  of  using  it? 

WHEELER — Nothing!    Besides  we  can  always  contradict  it^next 

day  in  a  couple  of  "sticks." 
EDITH — [indignantly]  Yes!     In  a  tiny  paragraph  in  small  type 

on  an  inside  page! 
WHEELER — Um-hum ! 

EDITH — Meantime  untold  suffering  may  have  been  caused  by 

the  false  news. 
WHEELER — "All's  fair,"  you  know,  "in  love  and " 

EDITH — Maxims!  Fables!  I  won't  be  ruled  by  them!  Besides, 
you're  misquoting.  But  newspaper  work  is  war,  isn't  it? 
And  "war  is [demurely]  hell!" 

WHEELER — [surprised]  Eh? 

EDITH — Yes,  I  know  the  meaning  of  the  word.     It's  a  good  one, 

not  used  half  enough ! 
WHEELER — [emphatically,  bringing  a  small  chair  from  upper  left 

and  sitting  at  her  right]  Look  here!    I  have  a  great  mind  to 

give  you  an  illustration a  tip  a  fellow  gave  me  last  night, 

and  I  feel  like  telling  you! 
EDITH — Do  you? 
WHEELER — Yes,  I  can  trust  you.    You're  the  first  woman  to 

whom  I  ever  felt  like  telling  a  secret. 

EDITH — [teasing]  Thank  you ! 

WHEELER — Honest!  I  want  to  tell  you  this  to  show  you  how 
we  newspaper  men  must  work  to  hold  our  end  up  and  get 
ahead  of  the  other  fellow. 

EDITH — To  convince  me,  in  other  words,  how  fair  you  are! 

WHEELER — As  you  like.  However,  I'll  not  burden  you  with 
the  secret  if  you  don't  wish  it. 

EDITH — You  may.     I'll  keep  it.    When  is  it  coming  out? 

[951 


THE  SCOOP 

WHEELER— It'll  "break"  tomorrow  morning. 

EDITH — Oh,  then!  I  shall  be  able  to  contain  myself  for  that 
short  time. 

WHEELER — It's  a  defaulting  case.  The  man  doesn't  even  know 
he  is  suspected.  [£DITH  straightens  and  grows  tense.}  Great 
sensation  for  "The  Public,"  eh?  [rising]  A  welcome  addition 
to  its  mush  and  coffee!  It  will  be  the  neatest  thing  I've  ever 
done. 

EDITH — But  the  man  himself!    He  will  read  it  too. 
WHEELER — Of  course,  I  can't  help  that. 
EDITH — [breathlessly]  Who who is  he? 

WHEELER — Joke  of  it  is,  I've  never  seen  the  man;  don't  know 
his  name.  He's  cashier  for  Coleman  Brothers. 

EDITH  [mechanically]  Coleman  Brothers!  [Her  work  slips  from 
her  hands  to  the  floor.] 

WHEELER — [returns  her  work  to  her  without  seeing  her  face;  sits] 
Yes,  wholesale  furniture,  you  know.  A  friend  of  mine  in 
there  got  a  clue  of  what  he  thought  might  be  a  good  story  for 
me,  and  followed  it  up.  He  overheard  an  argument  between 
the  partners.  The  senior's  a  hard  old  fellow,  but  the  junior 
was  inclined  to  give  the  man  a  chance  to  explain — years  of 
faithful  service,  and  all  that,  but  the  senior  prevailed. 

EDITH — [evenly]  What  made  them  suspect  him  ? 

WHEELER — Several  discrepancies  in  customers'  accounts.  The 
man  has  evidently  been  growing  careless.  The  books  are  to  be 
experted  this  afternoon  without  his  being  told  in  advance. 
[rising]  It's  a  sure  thing  they'll  find  a  deficit.  So  there's  my 

"scoop"!    Hurrah!    I'm  looking  for  promotion  next  day. 

[sitting  beside  EDITH,  and  taking  her  hand} Now,  may  I 

hope  just  a  little,  Edith? 

EDITH — [drawing  away  her  hand,  trying  to  sew]  Why  don't  you 
know  the  man's  name? 

WHEELER — [beginning  to  notice  her  strained,  mechanical  manner} 
My  friend  gave  me  the  story  very  hurriedly  last  night  in  a 

[26] 


THE  SCOOP 

street-car.    We  couldn't  discuss  names;  he  whispered  it.     It 

sounded  like er Reynolds,  or  something  like  that.     I 

have  an  appointment  with  him  after  I  leave  here;  I'll  get  it 
then. 

EDITH — [recovering  herself]  Why  doesn't  the  man  know?  How 
can  he  help  knowing  if  his  books  are  to  be  experted? 

WHEELER — He  is  off  duty  this  afternoon. 

EDITH — [rising,  with  an  impulse  to  get  away]  Oh,  it  isn't  fair  to 

him! 
WHEELER — Why  play  fair  with  him?    He  hasn't  played  fair 

with  them,  the  old  scamp! 

EDITH — [sitting  again  on  the  couch]  He  may  not  be  wicked  at  all. 

I  know 1  knew  a  case  where  the  man  was  pressed  through 

circumstances,  through  weakness — there  were  reasons. 

WHEELER — Those  are  not  reasons,  they  are  only  excuses. 

EDITH — Oh,  have  you  no  heart? 

WHEELER — Yes,  for  you! 

EDITH — [turning  a  way]  I'm  not  joking. 

WHEELER — No,  I  don't  believe  you  are.  [laying  his  hand  on  hers] 
Don't  take  it  so  seriously,  girl.  You  mustn't  try  to  right  all 
this  world's  wrongs  at  once,  you  know. 

EDITH — [trying  to  speak  lightly]  I'm  not.  Then  you  admit  it  is 
a  wrong? 

WHEELER— What? 
EDITH — Your  "scoop." 

WHEELER — [rising]  Nix!  That's  business.  I've  got  to  fight  my 
own  battles  in  the  world;  the  old  cashier's  got  to  fight  his. 

EDITH — But  you  are  taking  him  at  a  disadvantage. 

WHEELER — And  he  took  them  at  a  disadvantage,  and  so  it  goes! 

EDITH — But  you  don't  know  what  stress  may  have  prompted 
him  to  this,  while  you  are  only  working  for  self-advancement. 

WHEELER — And  you! 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH — [rising]  No,  not  me !    Count  me  out  of  your  plans,  please ! 
WHEELER — I  can't,  Edith.     You're  in  them  to  stay. 

EDITH — You've  offered  me  your  heart,  but  I  have  found  you 
haven't  any  to  offer. 

WHEELER— Edith! 

EDITH — You  will  not  even  admit  that  there  might  be  circum 
stances  through  which  this  poor  man  was  pressed  to  crime. 

WHEELER — That's  not  my  business. 

EDITH — It  is  mine,  though,  to  find  out  what  sort  of  a  heart 
is  being  offered  me. 

WHEELER — A  nice  soft  old  world  this  would  be  if  we  allowed  our 
sympathies  to  run  away  with  all  our  business ! 

EDITH — It  would  be  a  much  better  and  a  happier  one. 

WHEELER — I'm  sorry  I  mentioned  this,  dear. 

EDITH — I'm  not! 

WHEELER — You're  not  the  same  girl  you  were  when  I  entered 

this  room. 

EDITH — No,  I've  learned  much  since  then. 
WHEELER — What,  for  instance? 

EDITH — That  "fair  play"  is  only  a  pretty  term  that  looks  well 

in  print! 

WHEELER — On  the  contrary,  it's  often  used. 
EDITH — Yes,  after  a  certain  question  has  been  asked. 
WHEELER — What  question? 
EDITH — "What  is  there  in  it  for  me?" 

WHEELER — That's  what  we've  got  to  ask  ourselves.     Let  the 
other  fellow  look  out  for  himself. 

EDITH — Yes,  you  said  something  like  that  before.     You  and  I 
are  only  traveling  around  in  a  circle,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

WHEELER— Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  or  say  to  make  you  see 
this  matter  in  a  different  light? 

[28] 


THE  SCOOP 

EDITH — I'm  afraid  not.  I  am  more  firmly  convinced  than  ever 
that  heads  and  hearts  should  work  together  in  all  the  affairs  of 

life. And  now  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

My  mother  may  need  me.     [She  goes  toward  the  bedroom  door.] 

WHEELER — Of  course!  I  know  you  are  busy  and  tired.  Edith! 
If  you  will  not  give  me  any  hope,  will  you  at  least  try  to  take 
care  of  yourself for  my  sake,  as  well  as  the  others'? 

EDITH — I'll  try  to  take  care  of  myself  for  those  who  need  me. 
I  don't  think  you  are  one  of  them. 

WHEELER — I  am,  Edith;  more  than  you  know more  than  / 

know,  perhaps! 

[WHITNEY  RAYMOND  enters  from  the  bedroom.  He  is  wearing  a 
smoking  jacket.] 

EDITH — [going  to  him,  protectingly]  This  is  Mr.  Wheeler.  My 
father,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

RAYMOND — [offers  his  hand\  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Wheeler? 
WHEELER — [shaking  hands]  How  d'ye  do,  sir  ?    Glad  to  meet  you ! 

RAYMOND — Edith,  your  mother  wants  you.  Excuse  her  for  a 
few  minutes,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

WHEELER — I  am  just  going. 

RAYMOND — Oh,  don't  be  in  a  hurry!     Sit  down [vaguely] 

sit  down.  [EDITH  nods  and  goes  into  the  bedroom.  RAYMOND 
sits  wearily  in  the  easy  chair  at  left  of  the  table,  leaving  WHEELER 
to  seat  himself.]  That's  the  best  girl  in  the  world,  Mr.  Wheeler. 

WHEELER — [rather  surprised  at  RAYMOND'S  manner,  sits  at  right 
of  table]  I  don't  doubt  it. 

RAYMOND — Yes,  she's  everything everything  we  have  left. 

WHEELER — I  admire  Miss  Raymond  more  than  I  can  say.     In 

fact  I [He  pauses  and  watches  RAYMOND  who  has  sunk  back 

in  his  chair  in  a  dull,  dejected  attitude  \  Mr.  Raymond!  You 
are  ill! 

RAYMOND — No no,  not  ill.     I'm  a  bit  tired,  that's  all. 

WHEELER — Too  closely  confined  in  business,  I  presume? 

[29] 


THE  SCOOP 

RAYMOND — Yes,  and  my  wife  is  very  ill.  I  don't  believe  Edith 
knows  how  serious  it  is.  I  have  been  trying  to  get  away  for 
some  time  but  it  has  been  impossible. 

WHEELER — Still,  it's  a  man's  duty  to  himself.  You're  occupied 
in  office  work,  I  suppose? 

RAYMOND — [dully]  I  am  cashier  for  Coleman  Brothers.  [WHEELER 
sits  as  though  petrified.}  I  have  been  there  twenty-five  years. 

WHEELER — [rises,  stands  at  the  table,  fingering  the  books  nervously] 
Coleman  Brothers!  [half  audibly]  Twenty-five  years! 

RAYMOND — Yes.  A  long  time,  eh?  None  too  many  holidays, 
either.  Steady  at  it  all  the  time. 

WHEELER — [mechanically,    making  conversation]   We er 

don't  have  enough  regular  vacations,  and  we're  never  even 
certain  of  the  holidays. 

RAYMOND — My  vacations  have  been  spent  at  home  the  last  few 
years.  We  have  had  a  run  of  bad  luck  in  this  household,  Mr. 
Wheeler.  But  there,  I'm  bothering  you,  a  stranger,  with  our 
misfortunes. 

WHEELER — Believe  me,  I  am  interested;  intensely  interested, 
Mr.  Raymond. 

RAYMOND — My  wife  broke  down  about  six  months  ago  after 
almost  a  year  of  anxiety  over  a  daughter's  illness.  She  was 
just  eighteen,  Mr.  Wheeler;  growing  up  to  be  a  companion 
for  Edith.  But  we  lost  her we  lost  her. 

WHEELER — [incoherently]  That  was  hard. 

RAYMOND — [talking  as  though  to  himself]  During  Nell's  illness  our 
baby  Jean  was  taken  from  us.  My  God!  I  gave  my  last 

cent  to  try  and  keep  her  here,  but  it  was  no  use.    And 

but  I  wonder  why  I  am  telling  you  all  this! That  little  girl 

in  there  is  fighting  for  the  truth  all  the  time,  and  just  now  the 
fight  is  a  tough  one.  She's  watching  her  mother  die  by 
inches,  yet  she  never  falters.  And  this  is  not  the  end!  [His 
head  sinks.] 

WHEELER — Not  the  end?    Surely  you  have  had  enough! 

[30] 


THE  SCOOP 

RAYMOND — [trying  to  rally]  That's  enough  of  our  affairs.  I've 
bored  you  too  long.  You're  a  stranger  here,  Edith  tells  me. 

WHEELER — Yes,   a   stranger,   yet [with  determination]   Mr. 

Raymond,  I  want  to  do  something  for  you help  you  in 

someway.    What  can  I  do? 

RAYMOND — [evasively]  A  friend  is  a  good  thing.  I  may  need  a 
friend — tomorrow.  Will  you  be  one? 

WHEELER — [offering  his  hand\  I'm  your  friend  now,  and  tomor 
row,  too! 

RAYMOND  [rising,  holding  his  hand\  Thank  you.  I  like  you, 
young  man.  What  you  do,  you  do  quickly,  with  a  will.  I 
can  see  that. 

WHEELER — I  make  infernal  mistakes  sometimes. 
RAYMOND — [turning  away]  We  all  do. 

WHEELER — [a  sudden  thought  striking  him]  May  I  use  your 
phone? 

RAYMOND — Certainly.  Right  out  there.  Excuse  me,  will  you? 
I'll  go  to  Mrs.  Raymond,  and  send  Edith. 

WHEELER — [looking  up  a  number  in  the  telephone  directory]  Please 
do.  I'd  like  to  speak  to  her  before  I  go  if  possible. 

RAYMOND — I'll  send  her.     [He  goes  into  the  bedroom.] 

WHEELER — [at  the  telephone]  Hello!    Give  me  Sutter  3459 

NO,  345p yes.   Hello!   Coleman  Brothers!    Is  Ben  ton  in? 

Tom  Benton. Get  him,  please. Hello,  Tom!     This  is 

Russ.     I  say,  Tom,  that  story  we  talked  about  last  night;  it's 

all  off. 1  don't  care  what  they  think,  it's  all  off,  I  tell  you. 

Scare-heads,  nothing!     Drop  it,  I  tell  you! And  look 

here,  Tom,  you  tip  that  junior  partner  to  come  out  here  and 

have  a  talk  with well,  with  the  man  discussed.     He'll  find 

something  out  to  his  advantage. Sure  thing!     I'm  in  his 

house  now,  right  on  the  job. No  matter  how — I  know. 

Tell  him  to  come  pretty  damn  quick! No,  sir use  it? 

Not  for  a  million  dollars!     If  the  junior  can't  see  him  tell  him 
to  see  me! Good-by!    [He  hangs  up  the  receiver.] 


THE  SCOOP 

[EDITH  enters  from  the  bedroom.    WHEELER  goes  quickly  to  her, 
offering  his  hand.] 

WHEELER — I  only  wanted  to  say  good-by,  Miss  Edith. 
EDITH — [without  taking  his  hand}  Good-by. 

WHEELER — {nervously}  I  hope  your  mother  will  soon  be  better. 

And er Edith,    I've    changed    my   mind    about    that 

story.  I've  decided  not  to  use  it.  In  fact  I  don't  think  any 
one  will  get  it. 

EDITH — [her  face  lighting  up,  goes  to  him  with  clasped  hands]  Not 
use  it?    Oh!    Why what  has  changed  you? 

WHEELER — [clasping  her  hands  in  his]  Many  things.    You  most 
of  all!     Good-by!     [He  goes  out  hurriedly.] 

EDITH — [There  is  a  pause  as  she  looks  after  him.] Good-by! 

Russell! 

[WHITNEY  RAYMOND  enters  from  the  bedroom.  EDITH  runs  to 
him,  takes  his  hands  and  draws  him  toward  his  easy  chair.] 

EDITH — Daddy!    Daddy!    He's  not  going  to oh,  I  forgot! 

You  don't  know! 

RAYMOND — [vaguely,  sits  at  left  of  table]  What,  dear? 
[The  telephone  rings,  EDITH  answers.] 

EDITH — Hello! Yes? Oh,    yes,    Mr.     Coleman! He's 

awfully  tired,  but  I  'm  sure  he'd  like  to  see  you.  [excitedly] 

Oh,  do  come ! Yes  !    Yes !    Good-by.     [She  hangs  up  and 

runs  excitedly  to  her  father,  kneeling  before  him.]  Daddy !  Daddy ! 
It's  all  coming  right,  I'm  sure  it  is!  Mr.  Henry  Coleman 
wants  to  see  you,  he's  coming  to  see  you  now.  Tell  him 
today,  dad,  tell  him  today! 

RAYMOND — Coming  here? 

EDITH — Yes,  in  a  few  minutes. How  did  he  know?    What 

changed  him? 1  wonder !  [springing  up]  Dad!    What 

did  you  and  Mr.  Wheeler  talk  about? 

RAYMOND — [vaguely]  I  hardly  know,  dear;  my  head  aches  so 
today!    I  must  have  rambled  on  a  bit;  and  yes,  I  remember 


THE  SCOOP 

his  saying  that  he'd  like  to  do  something  for  me,  and er 

he  went  to  the  telephone.     But 1  must  get  ready  to  re 
ceive  Mr.  Coleman.     [He  goes  hurriedly  into  the  bedroom.] 

EDITH — [with  intense  joy]  It's  going  to  be  all  right;  I  know!  I 
know!  [She  picks  up  WHEELER'S  letter  from  the  table  where  she 
has  thrown  it,  kissing  it.]  He  has  a  heart  after  all!  Oh,  I'm 
so  happy! So  happy! 


[33] 


UNDERCURRENTS   •  A  Melodrama 
[CHARACTERS] 


THE  MAN. 
THE  WOMAN. 
A  WAITER. 
THE  OTHER  MAN. 
A  COUPLE. 


[SCENE] 


The  entrance  hall  of  an  underground  cafe  of  the  better 
sort.  At  center  a  short  stairway  leads  down  from  the 
street  entrance.  At  right  double  glass  doors  lead  into 
the  main  cafe.  At  left  are  two  private  boxes  numbered 
one  and  two,  with  curtains  half  drawn,  each  containing 
a  table  set  for  two  -persons.  Box  one,  which  is  nearest 
the  audience,  has  an  open  side  showing  the  interior. 
An  orchestra  is  playing  in  the  main  cafe. 


UNDERCURRENTS   •  A  Melodrama 


T  curtain  THE  MAN  is  discovered  leaning  against  the  railing 
near  the  top  of  the  stairway.  An  old  cap  is  pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 
[A  WAITER  enters  from  the  main  cafe,  looks  suspiciously  at  THE 
MAN,  then  goes  into  Box  two.  THE  MAN  looks  furtively  about, 
draws  a  revolver  from  his  hip  pocket,  looks  it  over,  then  places  it  in 
his  right  coat  pocket} 

[A  COUPLE  enter  at  C,  and  brush  against  THE  MAN.  THE  WOMAN 
lifts  her  skirts  disdainfully  aside,  THE  MAN  pushes  him  rudely.] 
[THE  WAITER  enters  from  Box  two  at  the  same  moment.  THE  COUPLE 
descend  the  stairway  and  go  into  the  main  cafe,  THE  WAITER  open 
ing  the  doors  for  them] 

WAITER — [surveying  THE  MAN  on  the  stairway]  Here,  you!    Get 

to  hell  out  of  this!    You're  blocking  that  entrance.     This 

ain't  no  reception  room.     Beat  it! 
THE  MAN — [straightens  up  and  pushes  back  his  cap]  Damn  your 

impudence! 

WAITE  R— Oh !    I er table,  sir  ? 

THE  MAN — Say,  you  damn  fool,  just  salt  yourself  a  bit 

you're   fresh!     Yes [looking  about   vaguely] reserve    a 

table  for  me. 

WAITER — Very  well,  sir.  [He  goes  into  Box  one,  tips  the  chairs 
against  the  table,  then  exits  into  the  main  cafe.] 

[Enter  THE  OTHER  MAN  C.    He  brushes  against  THE  MAN.] 

THE  OTHER  MAN — Hello!  I  beg  your  pardon!  Look  here,  what 
are  you  blocking  up  this  entrance  for?  You  nearly  knocked 
me  downstairs. 

THE  MAN — Damn  it I've  got  as  much  right  to  this  entrance 

as  you  have!    The  sooner  you  reach  hell  the  better!     Do  you 
think  you're  the  only [pushing  back  his  cap]. 

OTHER  MAN— Why Bob? 

l37l 


UNDERCURRENTS 

THE  MAN — Hello Kent!    I  didn't  know  you  ever  came  here 

to  eat. 
OTHER  MAN — Same  here.     I'm  sort  of  off  my  beaten  track 

lately.    This  is  good  enough  for  a  change.     Come  in  and  eat 

with  me. 
THE  MAN — Much  obliged,  not  tonight.     I'm  going  to  have  a 

sandwich and  then  take  myself  out  of  this  hell or  into 

another!    Take  your  choice! 

OTHER  MAN — \good-naturedly]  You're  not  in  an  obliging  mood 

tonight,  are  you?    Come  along,  get  over  your  peeve! [He 

draws  him  down  the  stairs.] 

THE  MAN — Oh,  what's  the  use?  What's  it  all  worth,  Kent?  A 

man  works and  grinds and  spends.  [He  draws  Kent 

toward  the  glass  doors  of  the  cafe.]  Look  at  them  all  in  there. 
What's  it  worth  to  them,  all  that  gorging  and  drinking?  And 
what  are  you  worth  to  a  girl  except  the  number  of  theater 
tickets,  jewelry  and  suppers  you  can  pony  up?  You  play  a 

cutthroat  game  with  Life  and  Chance and  you  get 

euchred,  that's  all!  How  many  of  those  in  there  will  come 
out  ahead,  I  wonder! 

OTHER  MAN — Cut  it  out,  my  son,  cut  it  out!  [with  mock  virtue] 
Behold  your  pattern  in  me! 

THE  MAN — Oh,  I  know  you  don't  go  in  much  for  that  sort  of 
thing!  It's  a  game  you  don't  play;  but  it's  all  very  well  for 
you  to  preach you're  on  Easy  street. 

OTHER  MAN — Who's  preaching? 

THE  MAN — Well,  it's  easy  enough  for  you  to  keep  even  with  the 
world  when  your  father  is  your  employer  too.  But  he  isn't 

my  father he's  just  my  employer.  Say,  Kent 1 

I'm  thinking  of  resigning  from  the  company,  and  striking  out 
for  a  new  place.  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  now,  but  you  came 
on  me  so  suddenly.  Say  a  good  word  for  me  at  the  meeting 
tomorrow,  will  you  ? 

OTHER  MAN — Sure  thing!  But,  look  here,  you  must  reconsider 

that,  Bob.  The  old  man  will  give  you  a  raise you're 

worth  a  lot  more  to  him  than  I  am. 

[38] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

THE  MAN — [fuming  away]  No,  my  mind  is  made  up. 

OTHER  MAN — [faking  hold  of  his  arm]  What  are  your  reasons? 
You  and  I  have  been  good  friends,  Bob.  Can't  you  tell  me? 

THE  MAN — Oh,  I've  made  a  smudge  of  my  life  here,  and  that's 
the  last  word  on  it!  Tomorrow  my  accounts  will  be  turned 
in  at  the  annual  meeting,  and  then  I'll  skip. 

OTHER  MAN — Come  in  and  have  some  dinner;  you'll  feel  better 
after  you've  had  a  cocktail  and  something  to  eat.  I  don't 
like  this  draught.  What's  your  reason  for  standing  out  here? 

THE  MAN — Thought  it  might  blow  me  out  like  a  cheap  candle, 
I  guess.  It  would  be  the  easiest  way. 

OTHER  MAN — Look  here,  Bob,  what's  the  matter?    You're  in 
a  bad  way.    You'd  better  come  and  have  your  sandwich 
with  me. 
[Enter  THE  WAITER,  from  the  main  cafe.] 

THE  MAN — Oh,  all  right,  thanks;  maybe  I  will!  Don't  wait  for 
me.  I  want  some  more  fresh  air  before  I  go  into  that  inferno. 

OTHER  MAN — Just  as  you  say.     See  you  later!     [He  goes  into 

the  cafe.] 
WAITER — [to  THE  MAN]  Then  you  won't  want  a  table,  will  you, 

sir? 

THE  MAN — Oh,  yes,  I  will!  That  was  only  a  bluff  to  get  rid 
of  him.  Me  for  a  table  all  right.  [THE  WAITER  exits  R.] 

THE  MAN — One  more  drink one  more  "rag" and  then 

what?     [He  fakes  the  revolver  from  his  pocket,  shudders, 

then  turns  abruptly  up  the  stairway  as  though  to  flee,  when  THE 
WOMAN  suddenly  enters  at  center.] 

[She  lurches  forward  and  almost  falls.  THE  MAN  rushes  up  and 
steadies  her,  a  look  of  disgust  upon  his  face.  She  turns  a  white 
face  to  him  and  gasps  her  thanks.  His  expression  changes  to  one 
of  pity  when  he  sees  her  despair.] 

[Enter  THE  WAITER,  R.  carrying  a  fray  ho/ding  several  full 
cocktail  glasses.  THE  MAN  takes  one  and  offers  it  to  THE  WO 
MAN.  She  thrusts  it  away  with  repulsion.  He  quickly  guides 

[39] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

her  into  Box  one,  catches  up  a  water  bottle  from  the  table ,  fills  a 
glass  and  offers  it  to  her.}  Here,  drink  this!  [He  looks  about, 
bewildered,  as  though  wondering  what  he  shall  do  with  her.] 

THE  WOMAN — [sets  her  lips  firmly  and  pushes  the  glass  away] 

The  lights  made  me  giddy.     I'm  all  right. Don't  bother 

about  me. 

THE  MAN — Where  do  you  want  to  go?  I  can't  leave  you  here. 
You  look  star -faint,  I  mean. 

THE  WOMAN — [looking  up  quickly,  springs  to  her  feet]  Oh,  I  know 
you!  You  are  one  of  his  kind.  You  sit  in  his  fine  office  every 
day  behind  his  plate  glass  windows.  Oh,  yes,  you  think 
you're  mighty  fine,  you  do,  sitting  there  casting  up  their 
cash!  Maybe  you  cast  up  a  little  on  the  wrong  side  now  and 
then,  eh,  to  pay  for  all  your  fine  clothes  and  theater  tickets! 
[He  makes  a  quick  movement  as  though  to  silence  her.]  I  know 
you  well  enough  in  your  old  cap.  I  suppose  you  think  no 
body  knows  you  in  that  disguise! 

THE  MAN — For  God's  sake,  hush;  you'll  have  the  whole  crowd 

in  here! 
THE  WOMAN— What  if  I  do? 

THE  MAN — You're  mistaken  if  you  think  you  know  me.  I 
assure  you  I  have  never  seen  you  before. 

THE  WOMAN — [sneeringly]  Maybe  not! 

THE  MAN — [with  familiarity]  But  that's  not  saying  I  wouldn't 
like  to  know  you  better.  Come,  take  a  bracer  and  jolly  up! 
So  you  know  me,  do  you?  [turning  her  face  up]  I  bet  I've  never 
seen  those  pretty  eyes  before. 

THE  WOMAN — Oh,  I  know  you  well  enough;  though  I  haven't 
the  honor  of  a  speaking  acquaintance! 

THE  MAN — [recklessly]  Well,  now's  your  chance!  I'm  the  sure 
thing,  all  right.  What's  the  diff  who  we  are  ?  [He  drains  the 
cocktail  glass.}  We'll  have  some  more  of  these.  What  do 

you  say Polly? Maud? Maggie? Where's    your 

visiting  card?     [He  reaches  out  to  touch  the  electric  bell  button 
on  the  wall.] 

[40] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

THE  WOMAN — [catching  his  arm]  Yes you're  all  alike!    Just 

one  of  his  kind.     I  know  most  of  his  friends  by  sight,  even  if 
I'm  not  good  enough  to  talk  to  'em. 

THE  MAN — [impressed  by  her  manner]  Who  are  you? And  who 

is  he? 

THE  WOMAN — [drawing  him  to  the  glass  doors  of  the  main  cafe, 
and  pointing  within]  There !  Look  over  at  that  table  in  the 
corner,  the  round  one.  Do  you  see  that  dark  fellow  that  looks 
as  if  the  earth's  not  good  enough  for  him?  Noble  looking, 
ain't  he? 

THE  MAN— Kent! 

THE  WOMAN— Yes Kent!  Well,  that's  "he!"   And  I?   Well' 

I'm  the  girl  he  ought  to  marry,  that's  all. Now,  as  you're 

so  curious,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do.     I'm  going  to 

get  a  little  straighter  first,  in  my  head then  I'm  going  to 

stand  behind  his  chair and  shoot  him  like  a  dog,  do  you 

hear? and  then I'm  going  to  shoot myself!     [She 

staggers y  exhausted,  and  he  supports  her.] 

THE  MAN — [gazes  into  the  cafe  with  horror-stricken  eyes]  Kent! 
My  God !  [He  guides  THE  WOMAN  again  to  the  Box  and  seats 
her  at  the  table.] 

[Enter  THE  WAITER,  R.    He  stands  at  the  Box  entrance.] 
THE  MAN — Coffee!   And  sandwiches  for  two.     Rush  order! 

WAITER — Very  well,  sir.  [He  discreetly  flicks  his  napkin  over  the 
table,  and  exits  R.] 

THE  MAN — [hangs  up  his  cap  and  pushes  back  his  disordered 
hair.  He  takes  of  THE  WOMAN'S  hat  and  tries  to  take  of  her 
jacket,  but  she  repulses  him.  He  again  offers  her  the  glass  of 
water  which  she  takes  and  drinks  mechanically,  seeming  scarcely 
to  be  aware  of  his  presence.] 

THE  WOMAN — [finally  straightens  up  and  looks  around,  faintly 
I'm  keeping  you  from  your  dinner. 

THE  MAN — Oh,  that's  all  right!  I'm  not  worrying  about  my 
self.  I  was  awhile  ago;  now  I've  got  something  bigger  to 
think  about. 


UNDERCURRENTS 

[Enter  THE  WAITER,  R.  with  coffee,  sandwiches  and  service  on 
tray.  He  pours  the  coffee  into  two  cups.]  Sugar?  [serves]  Cream? 
[serves]  Anything  more,  sir? 

THE  MAN — That's  all.  I'll  ring  if  I  want  anything  more. 
[THE  WAITER  nods  and  exits  R.  As  THE  WOMAN  shows  no  signs 
of  either  eating  or  drinking  THE  MAN  places  her  cup  in  her  hand. 
She  looks  upy  dazed,  then  drinks.  He  offers  her  the  sand 
wiches  and  she  eats  mechanically.  He  eats  and  drinks^ 

THE  WOMAN — [beginning  to  realize  her  surroundings  again]  How'd 
you  know  I  was  hungry? 

THE  MAN — Oh,  I er just  guessed!     It's  dinner-time,  you 

know. 

THE  WOMAN — I'll  be  all  right.     It  was  only  a  turn like  I'm 

used  to. 

THE  MAN — A  turn,  yes!    A  sudden  turning and  a  different 

outlook! 

THE  WOMAN — [suspiciously]  Eh? 

THE  MAN — [half  to  himself]  So  the  tragedy  shifts!  The  chain 
tightens  and  strains  at  the  links ! 

THE  WOMAN — I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

THE  MAN — [laying  his  hand  gently  on  hers]  Now  you're  better. 
Tell  me  all  about  it.  Surely  you  had  no  such  wild  plan  in 
your  head  when  you  came  here! 

THE  WOMAN — I  ask  your  pardon.  You're  not  his  kind  after  all. 
You've  saved  him  this  time,  but  it  won't  be  long  before  he's 
got  to  answer  for  it! 

THE  MAN — Will  the  darkening  of  many  lives  justify  your  act? 
There  is  no  wrong  that  can  be  righted  in  the  way  you  have 
chosen. 

THE  WOMAN — You're  not  a  minister,  are  you? 

THE  MAN — A  minister?     Hell! No!    Why  do  you  ask? 

THE  WOMAN — Sounds  like  preaching. 

THE  MAN — I'm  the  one  that  needs  the  sermon.     Look  here, 


UNDERCURRENTS 

girl pull  yourself  together!    Go  home  and  pick  up  your 

life  again;  don't  fling  it  away  like  this. 

THE  WOMAN — Home!  Where's  that?  "Where  the  heart  is,"  eh? 
Out  there?  [motioning  toward  the  cafe]  Or  back  to  the  old  place? 
A  nice  fortune  to  carry  back  to  the  old  folks,  ain't  it? 

THE  MAN — A  better  one  than  the  tragic  despatch  in  a  morning 

paper "One  more  murder  and  suicide  added  to  the  long 

list!"    What  good  will  it  do  you  to  carry  two  blackened  lives 

into  eternity?    He'll  get  his  punishment  sooner  or  later 

and  you?    Why  not  pocket  your  misfortune  and  outlive  it? 

THE  WOMAN — How  many  people women,  I  mean will 

help  me  to  pocket  it  if  I  go  home  to  Glennville? 

THE  MAN — [something  striking  him]  What  Glennville? 
THE  WOMAN— Ohio. 

THE  MAN — [glancing  at  her  keenly]  Why,  that's  my  town !  How 
long  have  you  been  away  from  it? 

THE  WOMAN — [wearily]  Oh,  months and  years!  Long  enough 

to  live  my  life  out. 

THE  MAN — And  your  name? 

THE  WOMAN — [suspiciously]  What's  that  to  you? 

THE  MAN — [gently]  You  took  me  for  your  friend,  you  know. 

THE  WOMAN — A  friend!  [Her  head  drops  on  her  arms,  and  she 
sobs  convulsively.] 

[THE  MAN  rises  hastily  with  the  impulse  to  get  away.  The  re 
volver  in  his  pocket  strikes  the  table  edge.  With  a  shamed  look 
he  draws  it  from  his  pocket  and  lays  it  on  the  shelf  above  him. 
Snatches  of  gay  music  and  the  popping  of  corks  are  heard  from 
the  cafe] 

THE  WOMAN — [Her  sobs  slowly  cease.]  My  name  was  Sarah 
Baxter. 

THE  MAN— [starting]  Not  little  Sal? [She  gazes  at  him  fixedly] 

Sally whom  I  carried  pick-a-back  to  pasture  when   the 

cows  came  in? Little  Sal  with  the  brown  eyes  and  saucy 

nose? 

[43] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

THE  WOMAN — [springs  up  and  grasps  his  hands]  Bob  Stirling! 
Oh,  Bob,  Bob! 

BOB — [slowly]  Little  Sal!  The  sunset's  in  our  eyes,  Sally and 

can't  you  hear  the  cowbells  tinkling tinkling? 

SALLY — [dreamily]  Yes and  hear  the  echo  over  the  hill,  Bob! 

They're  going  home. 1  can  smell  the  new  milk and  see 

the  flowers,  Bob,  the  flowers! 

BOB — Yes the  flowers.    You  were  one  of  the  flowers,  Sal! 

SALLY — You  left  us  long  ago  to  make  your  fortune. 
BOB — Fortune,  eh?    That's  good! 

SALLY — The  paths  of  men  are  easy,  ours  so  hard!    Oh,  Bob! 
Save  me save  me! 

BOB — [bitterly]  Fortune!    Yes,  my  fortune's  made!    [Sally  sinks 

down  again  and  buries  her  face.]     A  striped  suit three  meals 

a  day a  cell,  a  broom  to  make or  work  on  the  road! 

A  fortune  indeed! 

SALLY — What  do  you  mean? 
BOB — Why  did  you  leave  home? 

SALLY — Why  did  I?    Why  is  anybody  such  a  fool  as  to  leave 

home?    Oh,  I  was  restless restless!     The  boys  could  go 

out  into  the  world,  why  couldn't  I?  You  slave  away  all  your 
life  on  the  old  farm  and  what  do  you  get  for  it?  I  came  out 

here  with  a  lot  of  other  girls they  told  us  wages  were  high, 

and  anybody  could  find  work.  Everything  was  dead  easy! 
It  was  a  great  lark.  We  just  thought  your  golden  showers 
out  here  would  most  drown  us!  [laughing  unsteadily] 

BOB — Yes,  I've  heard  of  those  showers  myself! 

SALLY — They  said  there  wasn't  enough  girls  out  here.     They 
said  fine  places  in  shops  were  just  waiting  for  us.  That  was 

a  lie there  was  too  many  women  for  the  shops.  So  I  took 

up  housework. 1  guess  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  work 

in  a  house  where  they  think  you're  just  a  common  machine, 

and  when  you  get  tired  and  dazed-like and and  a  bit 

homesick they  think  you're  lazy! 

[44] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

BOB — Why  didn't  you  drop  it  all  and  go  home? 

SALLY — Go  home?  And  me  writing  them  about  the  fortune  I 
was  making,  and  the  grand  times  I  was  having? 

BOB — You  always  were  a  brave  kid,  Sal. 

SALLY — The  other  girls,  they  liked  to  go  out  nights,  and  I  got 
like  the  rest.  The  streets  was  gay,  and  the  lights  was  kind 
o'  cheerful  after  you'd  been  shut  in  all  day. 

BOB— Well?    Tell  me  more,  Sally. 

SALLY — I  know  what  you're  thinking but  it  isn't  so!     I  kept 

straight.  There  was  nothing  in  it  for  me  except  the  good 
times,  and  to  be  where  everything  was  cheerful  and  bright. 
Oh,  yes,  sometimes  I'd  go  to  a  dance,  but  I  wasn't  much  stuck 
on  the  men  I'd  meet  there,  so  I  cut  out  dances.  [Bob  looks 
out  toward  the  main  cafe.]  Oh,  him?  I  didn't  meet  him  at  no 

dances;  I  met  him  in  my  last  place 1  was  working  for  his 

mother. 

BOB — [between  his  teeth]  Beast! 

SALLY — O'  course  I  knew  they  was  better  than  me,  but  he 
thought  I  was  pretty  nice  at  first.  Then  he  wanted  to  get 

me  away  from  there he  said  he  could  see  me  oftener. 

Oh,  he  was  slick  enough! And  it  all  looked  mighty  nice 

to  me.  Him  and  me's  been  living  in  an  apartment  these  last 
six  months  [sneeringly]  and  he  says  he's  been  trying  to  make 
things  right  so's  we  could  be  married;  but  he  ain't  been  near 
me  lately.  Marry  me?  Nixey!  I  don't  see  him!  [Her 
eyes  grow  wild  again.]  Oh,  I  hate  him!  I  do,  I  do!  [She 
springs  to  the  Box  entrance.] 

BOB — [catching  her  by  the  arm]  No!  Listen  to  me,  Sal.  [She 
turns  to  him  at  the  old  name.]  You  re  going  home  tomorrow. 

I  have  money [shrugging  his  shoulders] a  little  more  or 

less,  what  does  it  matter?  You're  going  home,  I  say,  and 
you're  going  to  take  with  you  your  good  name! 

SALLY — And  you?    What  will  you  do?    You're  his  friend 

and  mine! 

[Enter  the  OTHER  MAN  from  the  main  cafe.    He  saunters  out  C.] 

[451 


UNDERCURRENTS 

[SALLY  starts  toward  himy  but  BOB  holds  her  fast,  and  by  force 
of  will  keeps  her  quiet.] 

SALLY — He's  gone!     I'll  not  see  him  again  for  days  perhaps.     I 
tracked  him  here  tonight  on  chance. 

BOB — Listen  to  me! Give  me  the  pistol! And  listen  to  me! 

[She  clutches  her  jacket  pocket  where  she  has  the  weapon  con 
cealed.]  I  want  to  make  a  compact  with  you.  [SALLY  catches 
sight  of  his  pistol  on  the  shelf.  She  snatches  it  and  poises  it  in 
the  air.]  That's  mine,  [coolly]  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
Two  lives  are  saved  tonight  for  something  better  or  worse,  who 
knows!  Put  that  down  on  the  table.  [As  though  hypnotized ', 

she  obeys  him.]      There now  put  your  own  beside  it! — 

That's  right.  A  pretty  pair,  aren't  they?  A  dozen  lives  they 
hold  between  them.  [SALLY  shudders.]  Do  you  know  what 
you  have  saved  me  from?  A  column  in  tomorrow's  paper 

too Oh,  yes,  you're  not  the  only  one!   No  matter  what  I've 

done;  it  can't  affect  you  one  way  or  the  other,  only  you're 
a  pretty  good  guesser!  I've  changed  my  mind  since  I  met 
you  tonight.  I  have  some  old  folks  at  home,  too,  who  are 
waiting  for  me  and  my  fortune.  You're  to  start  home  to 
morrow  morning,  and  you're  going  to  carry  them  my  mes 
sage. Tell  them I'll  be  working  hard  for  a  year  or  so, 

and  then  I'm  coming  home.  If  ever  I  can  repay  you  I'll 
try in  the  years  to  come if  there  are  any  left after 
ward! 

SALLY— Bob!    Oh,  Bob! 

BOB — I'm  going  to  take  you  back  now wherever  you  sleep. 

In  the  morning  you're  going  home Sally! 

SALLY — Will  they  take  me,  do  you  think,  Bob? 

BOB — Why,  Sal,  can't    you    see    their   faces   welcoming   you? 
[pause] 

SALLY— Yes,  Bob I'll  go. 

BOB — Stay  here,  I'll  call  a  taxi.     [She  sits  as  BOB  goes  toward  the 
stairway.    As  he  reaches  the  foot  of  the  stairs ] 

[Enter  THE  OTHER  MAN,  C] 

[46] 


UNDERCURRENTS 

OTHER  MAN — [coming  hurriedly  down  the  stairs]  Hello,  Bob!  I 
forgot  all  about  you!  Nice  thing  to  do,  wasn't  it?  Came 
back  to  look  for  you.  Why  didn't  you  come  in,  eh? 

[At  the  sound  of  his  voice  SALLY  starts  up  and  stands  at  the  Box 
entrance.} 

BOB — [motions  for  her  to  keep  back,  and  stands  partially  screening 
her]  Well  I  didn't  forget  you,  Kent!  I  wish  I  could! 

KENT — Haven't  got  over  your  grouch,  eh?  Oh,  you're  engaged 
I  see!  I  beg  your  pardon!  I  merely  thought  I  might  have 
the  pleasure  of  paying  for  your  dinner,  that's  all! 

BOB — There  comes  a  time  when  every  man  has  got  to  pay, 
Kent;  not  only  for  his  dinner  but  for  everything.  That  time 

has  come  to  you  and  me right  here  and  now!     [He  steps 

aside  revealing  SALLY.]  Keep  quiet,  Sal;  you  needn't  say  a 
word!  He  knows  all  there  is  to  say  that  you  can  tell  him. 
[KENT  starts  a  trifle  when  he  sees  SALLY,  then  deliberately  gives 
his  attention  to  BOB.]  Yes,  I  know  Sally;  she  was  a  friend  of 
mine  back  in  the  old  town.  I  thought  I  knew  you,  Kent, 
but  I've  found  I  was  mistaken.  You  think  you  know  mey 
but  you're  mistaken  too! 

[Enter  THE  WAITER,  R.] 

Here,  boy,  call  a  taxi  for  me!  [Exit  WAITER,  C.]  I'm  going 
to  send  this  child  home  tomorrow  morning  on  your  money, 

Kent yes,  your  money  that  I've  been  living  on  for  the 

last  year  or  so I'll  do  some  good  with  it  at  last!     I  came 

here  in  a  bad  way  tonight,  and  I  expected  by  now  to  be  on 

my  way  to  Kingdom  come! but  there  are  worse  troubles 

than  mine and  this  little  woman  has  saved  me! 

[Enter  THE  WAITER,  C.] 
WAITER — Taxi's  waiting  outside,  sir. 

BOB — All  right.  Come,  Sally,  you're  going  home.  [He  takes 
her  arm  as  she  stumbles  up  the  stairway.  THE  WAITER  starts 
forward  to  assist,  follows  them  and  stands  obsequiously  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  BOB  nods  toward  Box  one.}  You'll  find 
your  tip  on  the  table.  [THE  WAITER  bows  his  thanks,  and  comes 
down,  looking  back  at  them  curiously.]  I'll  see  you  at  the 

[471 


UNDERCURRENTS 

meeting  tomorrow,  Kent.  I've  changed  my  mind  about  not 
being  there.  I'll  be  on  hand,  all  right,  and  my  accounts  are 
all  ready  to  turn  in.  Have  yours  ready  for  me!  Come,  Sal! 
Home  tomorrow,  Sal!  [They  exeunt,  C.] 

[KENT  stands  a  moment,  rigid,  then  buttons  up  his  coat  tightly.] 
WAITER — [obsequiously]  Table,  sir? 

KENT — No!  Go  to  hell!  Can't  you  see  I've  dined?  [He  clinches 
his  teeth  firmly  on  his  cigar,  and  exits  C.] 

WAITER — "Go  to  hell,"  is  it?  Nix!  I  might  have  to  see  too 
much  o'  you!  [He  stands  a  moment  looking  after  KENT,  then 
remembering  his  tip,  goes  hastily  into  Box  one.  He  discovers 
the  two  pistols  on  the  table.  Lifting  one  in  each  hand  he  surveys 
them  with  great  surprise  as] 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS. 


[48] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE  *4  Tragic  Farce 


[CHARACTERS] 

CARL  GILLESPIE,  a  near-business  man. 

MRS.  GILLESPIE,  usually  "Twink." 

DR.  GRAHAM. 

FOOGI,  a  Japanese  maid. 

THE  INFANT. 

[SCENE] 

The  living-room  of  the  Gillespies'  American  bungalow 
home.  It  is  simply  but  comfortably  furnished  with 
a  couch,  chairs  and  small  table  at  right,  dining-table 
and  buffet  at  left.  Two  dining  chairs  are  near  the 
table.  The  entrances  are  at  center  and  down  left. 
Through  the  center  entrance  are  seen  the  last  two  or 
three  steps  of  the  stairway  leading  down  from  above 
at  right.  The  hall  leads  to  the  outside  entrance  of  the 
house  at  left.  A  door  down  left  opens  into  the  kitchen. 


A  MODERN  MENAGE -ATragic Farce 

^±T  curtain  the  front  door-bell  is  ringing  loudly.  THE  INFANT'S 
loud  crying  is  heard  from  upstairs. 

[Enter  FOOGI,  running  downstairs.  She  crosses  the  doorway  C. 
and  goes  to  open  the  front  door.  In  response  to  an  inquiry  she  is 
heard  to  say:] 

No!  Ladee  not  home,  not  home.  [She  bangs  the  door  and  runs 
back  just  as  another  loud  cry  from  THE  INFANT  is  heard,  and  the 
sound  of  something  falling.  It  is  THE  INFANT  tumbling  down 
stairs.  FOOGI  rushes  up  to  him  and  is  heard  comforting  him. 
He  cries  spasmodically  with  diminuendo.] 

FOOGI — Ay  yi !    The  bad  step bad  step!  Did  bump  head  ? 

Where  you  hurt  self? Ay  yi! 

[The  sound  of  a  latch-key  is  heard  and  the  opening  and  shutting 
of  the  front  door,  a  cheery  whistle  in  the  hall.] 
[Enter  CARL  GILLESPIE,  C.  He  is  young  and  well-dressed.  A 
good-looking  man  not  long  out  of  college.  He  stands  C.E.  ad 
dressing  FOOGI  on  the  stairs.  She  has  gone  up  out  of  sight  of 
the  audience.  THE  INFANT  still  cries  slightly.] 

GILLESPIE — Bring  him  here.     Hello,  Dad's  boy!     What's  the 

matter,  kid? 
FOOGI — He  much  sleepy,  think. 

GILLESPIE — Sleepy?  Nonsense!  Didn't  he  get  his  nap  today? 
[snapping  his  fngers]  Wake  up,  lazy-bones!  Come  and  fight 
your  dad!  [THE  INFANT  cries.]  Gee  whiz!  Dow'/ then!  Take 
him  along!  [The  cries  grow  fainter  as  FOOGI  bears  him  aloft.] 

GILLESPIE — [whistles  and  enters  the  living-room]  Yoo-whoo! 

Twink!  Where  art  thou,  my  cherished  one?  [silence]  Yoo- 
whoo!  [He  looks  into  the  kitchen.]  Yoo-whoo! No  star 
ling's  in  sight!  Orbit's  empty!  [He  enters  the  kitchen  and 
rattles  the  kettle-top.  Re-enters  the  living-room.]  So's  the  kit 
chen.  No  feed  in  sight,  and  me  with  a  square-foot  space  in- 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

side.  [Goes  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.]   Cherry-blossom! Iris! — 

what  is  her  damned  name  anyway!     Say! 
FOOGI — [from  above]  Any  caller  me? 

GILLESPIE — Yes,  what's  your  name?  I  wasn't  introduced  yes 
terday. 

FOOGI — Name  ? 

GILLESPIE — Yes,  name your  name.     What  I  call  you? 

FOOGI — [comes  down  and  stands  on  the  last  step]  You  call  me? 
What  want? 

GILLESPIE — Oh,  Lord!  Solid  ivory!  Somebody  give  me  a  bil 
liard  cue! 

FOOGI — No  have  got. 

GILLESPIE — Where's  your  mistress?    Where's  Mrs.  Gillespie? 
FOOGI — No  un'stan'  Gillesp'. 
GILLESPIE — The  lady -where 's  the  lady? 

FOOGI — Oh!  Ladee!  Ladee  she  go  out  long  time.  [THE  INFANT 
cries.] 

GILLESPIE — She  go  out,  eh?  Where's  the  dinner?  Why  aren't 
you  getting  it? 

FOOGI — No  dinner.  Babbee  kli  all  time.  [THE  INFANT  cries. 
FOOGI  goes  up.] 

GILLESPIE — [with  an  impatient  shrug,  re-enters  the  room]  It's 
darned  mean  of  Twink  to  go  off  like  this.  Another  "Bridge 
fight,"  I  suppose!  [The  sound  of  a  latch-key  is  heard  in  the 
front  door,  and  a  brisk  entrance  into  the  hall.  GILLESPIE,  posing 
as  injured  innocence,  stands  at  L,  half  facing  C.  E.] 

[Enter  MRS.  GILLESPIE,  C.  E.     The  picture  of  health  and  spirits. 
She  carries  a  shopping  bag  and  several  parcels.] 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  hello,  Carly  boy!  What  are  you  doing  home  so 
early?  [At  sight  of  her  his  anger  melts  visibly  and  by  the  time 
she  reaches  him  he  is  quite  ready  to  greet  her  lovingly.] 

GILLESPIE— [reproachfully]  Early?  [shows  her  his  watch] 

MRS.  G. — [horrified\  Good  heavens!  It  isn't!    [snatching  her  own 

[5*1 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

watch  out  of  her  handbag,  dropping  it,  then  holding  it  to  her  ear] 
Little  beast!  I  never  can  depend  upon  it!  There  now,  you'll 
say  it's  because  I  dropped  it,  when  you  know  very  well  I'm 
not  in  the  habit  of  doing  it! 

GILLESPIE — Never  mind,  Twink,  I'll  believe  that's  the  first 
time  today. 

MRS.  G. — You'd  better!  [laughing  guiltily]  'Tisn't  tho!  [merrily] 
I  nearly  died  this  afternoon  catching  a  car.  Ran  around  the 
end  of  it,  and  of  course  it  was  one  of  those  ^w^-as-you-enter 
fiends.  I  opened  my  bag  and  fell  up  the  steps.  Out  flew  my 
watch  and  a  big,  fat  brute  in  front  of  me  put  his  heel  on  it. 
The  least  he  could  do  was  to  pay  my  fare!  [worried,  she  shakes 
the  watch  at  her  ear]  I  do  wish  I  had  a  watch  I  could  depend 
on! 

GILLESPIE — [with  mock  severity]  May  I  enquire,  Madam,  if  you 
are  in  the  habit  of  falling  over  polite  gentlemen  who  pay  your 
fare?  [She  laughs  delightedly.]  Here,  give  me  that  long- 
suffering  bit  of  iron.  I'll  take  it  to  a  blacksmith!  [She 
hands  him  the  watch.] 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  Carly,  I'm  dead  tired!  [taking  of  her  hat  and  coat] 
Have  you  seen  Kiddums?  Isn't  he  the  quiet  lamb! 

GILLESPIE — [sotto  voce]  Quiet!  [THE  INFANT  cries.] 

MRS.  G. — [running  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs]  There's  no  sense  in 
her  letting  him  cry!  All  he  wants  is  to  be  amused. 

GILLESPIE — I  guess  they  amuse  each  other  all  right!  The  kid 
was  so  absorbed  in  his  own  particular  kind  of  amusement 
when  I  came  home  that  he  wouldn't  even  look  at  me. 

MRS.  G. — She's  probably  been  neglecting  him.  They  are  so 
careless.  Maybe  she's  left  him  alone  up  there.  I'll  run  up 
and  see  to  him  while  Foogi  brings  in  dinner. 

GILLESPIE — Who o gi  ? 

MRS.  G. — Don't  be  an  idiot!  Foogi!  F,  double  o-g-i!  [She 
opens  the  kitchen  door.]  You  may  bring  in  dinner,  Foogi. 

Foogi!     Foogi!     Well will    you    look    at    that    peaceful 

stove?  [glancing  at  the  dining-table]  And  the  table  only  half  set! 

[53] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

[disgustedly]  Oh,  this  "help"  problem  is  getting  past  all 
standing!  She  was  recommended  as  a  "treasure,"  if  you 
please!  Her  husband  brought  her  and  said  she  "ver'  smart." 
In  fact,  she  "  knew  too  much!" 

GILLESPIE — [ironically]  Impossible! 

MRS.  G. — [gathers  up  her  hat,  coat,  and  bundles,  then  -puts  the 
bundles  down  again  on  the  couch]  No,  I  must  show  you  those. 
I've  got  some  of  the  sweetest  bargains!  [rapidly,  in  the  door 
way]  Now,  I  tell  you  what  you  do  while  I'm  upstairs.  See 
if  Foogi  brought  the  meat  in  from  the  ice-box,  and  put  on  the 
kettle,  there's  a  dear  boy,  and  I'll  send  her  down  in  a  minute. 
[ExitC.E] 

GILLESPIE — [with  a  heavy  sigh,  exits  into  the  kitchen.  THE  IN 
FANT  cries,  the  telephone  on  the  table  'rings.  GILLESPIE  re-enters, 
not  having  heard  the  telephone]  Hang  it!  I  can't  find  any  meat! 
[Goes  to  the  stair-foot  and  yells]  Twink!  I  can't  find  any  meat! 
[THE  INFANT  cries,  the  telephone  rings  again,  the  door-bell  rings. 
GILLESPIE  looks  distractedly  from  one  to  the  other,  then  goes  to 
the  phone.  FOOGI  comes  down  and  goes  to  the  front  door  whence 
a  man's  voice  and  hers  are  heard  in  parley] 

GILLESPIE — [at y phone]  Hello ! yes got  me  first  time !    Who 

did  you  say  you  were? Oh,  yes!  [He  nearly  drops  the  re 
ceiver  in  dismay.]  Oh,  y-e-s!  Mr.  Delafield!  Yes,  it  was  very 
unfortunate  I  had  to  be  out  this  afternoon  when  you  called. 

Yes,  I  know;  I  generally  do  keep  my  appointments. I'm 

awfully  sorry! You  couldn't  see  me  tomorrow  morning, 

could  you?   You've  made  other  arrangements? 1  see! 

I  see!  Thank  you,  good-by!  [Hangs  up  with  a  blank  look] 
Well,  of  all  the  infernal  chumps I'm  the  limit! 

FOOGI — [is  heard  outside  remonstrating,  then  enters  with  a  bill 
which  she  gives  to  GILLESPIE.  He  stares  at  it.] 

GILLESPIE — Why,  this  was  paid  weeks  ago! 

FOOGI — Man  say:  "No  pay,  no  meat!"  He  write see!  [She 

points  to  the  back  of  the  bill.] 

GILLESPIE — [reads]  "I  have  called  several  times  with  this  ac 
count  but  can  never  find  the  lady  at  home.  Would  esteem 

[54]  ' 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

it  a  great  favor  if  you  will  remit  as  soon  as  possible.  Yours 
respectfully,  James  Blodgett.  Dealer  in  choice  meats  and 
poultry.  Cold  storage  a  specialty."  Hm!  Deals  out  the  cold 

day  with  a  glad  hand! All  right,  Foogi;  you  tell  man,  I 

send  tomorrow send  tomorrow see? 

FOOGI — [mechanically]  I  send  tomorrow send  tomorrow,  see  ? 

GILLESPIE — Wait!   Gentleman  send  tomorrow,  see? 

FOOGI — Yis!  Gentleman  send  tomorrow,  see?  [Exit.  She  is 
heard  remonstrating  at  the  front  door.] 

GILLESPIE — [going  to  C.  E.y  calls]  That'll  be  all  right.  I'll  send 
a  check  tomorrow.  [FOOGI  bangs  the  front  door  and  returns 
to  C.  E.]  See  here,  PThoogi,  you  tell  lady  I  find  no  meat. 

FOOGI — [smiling  coyly]  Man  say,  "no  pay,  no  meat!" 

GILLESPIE — [with  dawning  intelligence]  I  see!  I  see!  You  go  tell 
lady  there's  no  meat.  Ask  her  what  we'll  have.  Great  Scott ! 
I'll  eat  The  Infant  if  she  doesn't  hurry!  [FOOGI  exits,  giggling 
delightedly.  GILLESPIE  whistles  cheerfully.  He  tries  to  finish 
setting  the  table,  but  only  succeeds  in  mixing  up  the  articles  on  it. 
He  moves  a  large  bowl  of  flowers  from  the  small  table  and  places 
it  in  the  center  of  the  dining  table,  thereby  obscuring  most  of  the 
service.] 

[Enter  FOOGI.] 
FOOGI — Ladee  say,  "schlimpy." 

GILLESPIE — [meditatively]  Schlimpy! Um schlimpy?     What 

in  thunder  is  schlimpy! 

FOOGI — Schlimpy  ver'  nice. 

GILLESPIE — I  believe  you!  [going  to  stair-foot,  he  yells]  Twink! 
What  the  deuce  is  schlimpy,  and  where  found? 

MRS.  G.—[from  above]  S-h-rimps,  you  goose!  Find  them  in  the 
ice-box.  Let's  have  some,  "Spanish."  Let's  have  a  good  old 
college  feed! 

GILLESPIE— Oh,  sure!    You  find  the  "Spanish,"  Foogi,  while  I 

[55] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

cast  me  net  for  schlimpy.     [FOOGI  is  bewildered.]   "Spanish!" 

Tomato  sauce in  bottle.     There maybe  on  buffet,  see? 

[He  goes  into  the  kitchen.} 

FOOGI — [Goes  to  the  buffet;  searches,  plainly  without  knowing  what 
she  is  looking  for.  Then  suddenly  she  looks  on  the  floor  in  the 
corner,  beside  the  buffet,  and  hurriedly  takes  a  brush  hanging 
near  and  sweeps  something  back  into  the  corner} 

[Enter  GILLESPIE  carrying  the  shrimps  in  a  bowl  which  he  places 
on  the  dining-table .  He  gets  a  fork  and  spoon  from  the  buffet.} 

FOOGI — No  can  find  "Spanish" sauce  bottle. 

GILLESPIE — Run  up  and  ask  the  lady  where  it  is.  [Exit  FOOGI. 
Gillespie  picks  over  the  shrimps.] 

MRS.  G. — [from  above]  What  is  it  you  want,  Carly? 
GILLESPIE — "Spanish."    Where's  the  tomato  catsup? 

MRS.  G. — [very  loudly}  Oh "Spanish!"    Why,  on  the  buffet 

where  it  always  is!     I  wish  you  wouldn't  yell  so,  Carl,  you'll 

wake  Kiddums.     [THE  INFANT  cries.]    There 1  knew  you 

would ! 

GILLESPIE — [grins,  goes  to  buffet}  "Where  it  always  is!"  [Not  see 
ing  it,  he  peers  into  the  corner.}  Gee  whiz!  What  a  mess!  [He 
stoops  to  investigate  and  cuts  his  finger  on  broken  glass.  He 
twists  his  handkerchief  around  it.] 

[Enter  FOOGI.] 
FOOGI — Ladee  say:  "Where  bottle?" 

GILLESPIE — What  bottle?  There's  a  bottle,  broken,  behind 
there!  [pointing]  There's  the  "Spanish!"  Whoo%\  broke  that? 

FOOGI — [with  pretended  innocence]  Oh too  bad! 

GILLESPIE— Yes,  "too  bad!"  What  bottle  does  lady  want? 
That  bottle? 

FOOGI — [giggling]  No!    No!     Babbee's  bottle. 

GILLESPIE — "Babbee's"  bottle!  Does  she  think  I  take  it  to  the 
office?  [He  goes  to  the  stair-foot.}  Twink!  Oh,  Twink!  What 
bottle  are  you  talking  about?  [FOOGI  is  busy  at  the  table} 

[56] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

MRS.  G—[from  above]  Why,  Kiddum's  bottle,  dear!  What  did 
you  do  with  the  other  when  you  gave  him  one  last  night? 

GILLESPIE — O-o-h!  Gee!  I  chucked  it  under  the  bed.  It 
wouldn't  work.  Kiddums  fired  it  at  me.  You'd  better  send 
him  crawling  under  for  it;  it's  all  his  fault. 

MRS.  G. — [sweetly]  You  unfeeling  brute!     He's  asleep  now. 

GILLESPIE — And  say,  Twink,  where's  the  witch  hazel?  I've  cut 
my  finger. 

MRS.  G. — Why,  dearie,  I'm  so  sorry!  Is  it  bad?  The  Infant 
drank  all  the  witch  hazel  there  was  day  before  yesterday. 
Don't  you  remember  I  had  to  call  Dr.  Graham? 

GILLESPIE — Oh,  sure  enough!  [He  twists  his  handkerchief  again 
around  his  finger.  To  FOOGI.]  Here,  please,  tie  this;  tie,  tie, 
tie!  [She  knots  the  ends  and  he  takes  the  dish  of  shrimps  and  goes 
into  the  kitchen.]  Fix  the  table,  Fujiyama!  Now  for  a  good 
old  college  feed!  Oh,  you  Twink!  [He  is  heard  rattling  the 
stove.  FOOGI  finishes  setting  the  table.  GILLESPIE  stands  in  the 
kitchen  doorway.]  I  suppose  you've  never  been  to  college, 
my  poor  girl!  At  college  one  learns  to  make  the  best  of  all 
the  /^practical  situations  of  life!  In  the  seething  cauldron  of 

[a  hissing  sound  is  heard  from  the  kitchen,  he  turns  hastily] 

Great  Scott !  The  kettle !  [He  is  heard  rattling  the  kettle-top, 
and  whistling.] 

[Enter  MRS.  GILLESPIE,  C.  E.  She  speaks  loudly  and  distinctly 
to  FOOGI,  emphasizing  about  every  third  word  in  an  effort  to  be 
understood^ 

MRS.  G. — Foogi!    Go  upstairs  now.  The  baby  is  taking  bottle. 

You  stay  with  him watch!     Make  him  eat  his  dinner 

not  socks not  bed-clothes!   [GILLESPIE  returns  to  the  kitchen 

entrance^  Would  you  believe  it,  Carly,  that  wretch  we  had 
last  week  let  him  eat  about  six  of  those  little  tufts  off  his 
comforter!  At  least,  I  suppose  he  ate  them.  They  were  gone! 

GILLESPIE — Modest  kid!    Conceals  his  carnivorous  feats! 

MRS.  G. — He's  a  duck!    I  heard  the  sweetest  lecture  today  about 
the  hours  a  mother  spends  with  her  child ! 

[57] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

GILLESPIE — Come  and  have  a  look  at  these  shrimps.  I  decided 
to  cream  them  instead.  [He  puts  his  arm  around  her  and 
draws  her  into  the  kitchen^  The  kettle's  boiling;  you  make  the 
coffee,  Twink.  [pause] 

MRS.  G. — Those  are  great,  [returning  to  the  living-room]  Your 

major  at  college  was  chafing-dish  recipes,  wasn't  it? Or 

was  it  cigarettes?  [She  goes  to  the  buffet  and  gets  a  coffee  per 
colator •.]  My  dear!  I'm  hungry!  I  only  had  time  to  eat  a  bite 
of  salad  and  a  cream  puff  for  lunch. 

GILLESPIE — [standing  reproachfully  in  the  doorway  as  she  tries  to 
pass]  Take  that  back! 

MRS.  G. — [innocently]  What?  Don't  you  want  your  coffee  per 
colated  tonight?  Oh!  [laughing]  The  cigarettes!  Well,  that 
was  mean  of  me!  Call  it  pipes,  if  you  like!  [He  kisses  her  and 
lets  her  pass.]  Take  in  your  shrimps,  Carlo,  and  I'll  bring 
the  bread  and  olives. 

GILLESPIE — [entering  with  the  shrimps  in  a  bowl  which  he  places 

on  the  table]  Never  mind  a  dish  tonight it'll  save  washing. 

[pause] 

MRS.  G. — [entering  with  bread  and  a  bottle  of  olives]  Well,  you 
needn't  be  so  economical!  I'm  a  real  lady  tonight;  we  have 
a  minion  to  wash  our  dishes!  Run  out  and  get  the  rest  of  the 
cream.  [GILLESPIE  exits  to  kitchen.]  Wasn't  he  the  dear, 
artistic  boy  to  remember  the  decorations!  [She  pushes  the 
flowers  back  to  make  room  for  the  eatables.  Enter  GILLESPIE 
with  a  bottle  of  cream.  He  opens  the  olive  bottle,  she  slices  bread. 
She  is  R.  of  table,  he  stands  L.] 

GILLESPIE — Well,  what  was  doing  today? 

MRS.  G. — I've  simply  rushed  all  day.  [rapidly  checking  of  on  her 
fingers]  Shopped  early;  loveliest  bargains  you  ever  saw  at 
Levison's!  [starting  up  toward  her  parcels] 

GILLESPIE — For  heaven's  sake,  sit  down,  Twink!    Let's  eat! 

MRS.  G. — [resuming  her  checking]  Class  in  infant  psychology  at 
eleven,  awfully  interesting,  and  we  got  talking  and  forgot  the 
time  so  I  couldn't  come  home  to  lunch.  Then  there  was  Ivy 

[58] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

Littleton's  stocking  "shower"  at  two,  but  I  couldn't  stay 
long  at  that  because  I'd  promised  Alice  Kingston  to  drop  in  at 

refreshment  time  after  her  "bridge" and  a  lot  of  the  girls 

came  in  late and 

GILLESPIE — [having  finished  opening  the  olive  bottle]  My  dear 
girl cut  it  out! er cut  bread! 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  yes!   and [there  is  a  loud  cry  from  THE  INFANT 

and  the  sound  of  something  dropped.     They  rise  and  listen.] 

MRS.  G.— [resignedly]  There!  Another  bottle!  That's  the  third 
this  week!  [They  sit.] 

GILLESPIE — [feels  in  his  money  pocket;  draws  out  a  handful  of 
small  change,  and  looks  at  it  ruefully]  By  the  way,  dear,  a  col 
lector  just  came  from  the  butcher.  How  was  it  you  didn't 
pay  that  bill? 

MRS.  G. — Why,  Carly,  you  said  you'd  send  a  check  from  the 
office!  Don't  you  remember  month  before  last  you  said  you 
thought  you'd  run  the  butcher's  bill  for  a  change? 

GILLESPIE — [sheepishly]  Why,  yes,  so  I  did!  Wouldn't  it  be 
cheaper  and  safer  for  The  Infant  to  eat  meat  instead  of  break 
ing  so  many  bottles? 

MRS.  G. — [reproachfully]  My  dear!  That  is  just  the  exuberance 
of  youthful  energy  which  we  are  told  we  must  not  check. 
[THE  INFANT  continues  to  howl.]  I  must  go  and  see  what  is  the 
matter.  Eat  your  dinner,  Carly,  it's  getting  cold.  [She  exits, 
and  he  begins  to  eat  hurriedly.  Suddenly  there  comes  a  scream 
from  MRS.  GILLESPIE,  and  hey  running  to  meet  her  as  she  comes 
hurriedly  down,  catches  her  in  his  arms.  She  carries  a  child's 
white  dress  and  skirt,  stained  with  bright  red  spots  which  she 
displays  to  his  horrified  gaze.] 

MRS.  G. — [sobbing]  Oh,  Carly,  Carly!  What  awful  thing  has 
happened  to  him?  He's  so  hot,  and  cries  all  the  time!  I 
didn't  see  these  at  first;  Foogi  had  taken  them  off,  and  he  was 
all  covered  up.  Oh,  I'm  afraid  to  look!  Telephone  for  the 
doctor,  quick,  quick!  I'm  sure  he's  dying!  My  baby's  dying! 
[She  sinks  in  a  spasm  of  sobs  on  the  couch  while  GILLESPIE  calls 
up  the  doctor.] 

[59] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

GILLESPIE — Hello!  Central quick Give  me  Oak  1904 

yes (well,  she  got  it,  first  time  on  record!) Oak 

1904?  Dr.  Graham?  Yes,  can  you  come  right  over  here, 
Doctor?  The  Infant  seems  to  be  a  little  upset,  [MRS.  G.  sits 
up  indignantly.  "  Upset!"]  and  my  wife's  nervous  over  him. 
Thank  you,  yes,  right  here,  please!  Oh,  here  means  Gillespie's 
down  on  the  cerner!  All  right,  thanks,  good-by!  [He  hangs 
up,  surveys  the  dress  and  skirt.]  Gee!  That  looks  bad!  No  won 
der  he  wouldn't  play  when  I  got  home.  I  don't  want  to 
reproach  you,  Twink,  but  don't  you  think  it  would  be  better 
for  the  kid  if  you  let  some  of  these  outside  things  go?  [THE 
INFANT  cries.] 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  Carl!    [She  puts  down  her  head  and  sobs  again.] 

GILLESPIE — [conscience-stricken]  There,  there!  I'm  a  brute!  Gee 
whiz!  I  suppose  that  coffee's  boiled  all  over  the  place!  [He 
bolts  for  the  kitchen,  and  returns  with  the  steaming  coffee  pot; 
places  it  on  the  table^  Come  and  take  a  cup,  dear.  You  must 
brace  up  before  the  doctor  comes. 

MRS.  G. — I  can't  take  a  bit.  [sotting]  You  eat  your  supper. 

GILLESPIE — [goes  to  the  table.  The  shrimps  are  now  cold  and  he 
turns  them  over  distastefully^  I'm  not  so  hungry  now  somehow. 
[He  pours  out  a  cup  of  coffee,  drinks  part  of  it,  then  carries 
another  cup  to  her.  He  tries  to  tempt  her  with  a  spoonful.] 
Here,  Twink!  Brace  up!  [She  takes  a  few  spoonsful,  smiling 
dolefully  as  he  feeds  her.] 

[There  is  a  ring  at  the  front  door,  and  GILLESPIE  exits  to  admit 
DR.  GRAHAM,  a  tall,  grave  man  of  middle-age.  He  leaves  his 
hat  and  coat  in  the  hall.] 

DR.  GRAHAM — [smiling  kindly  as  he  greets  MRS.  GILLESPIE]  Good- 
evening,  Mrs.  Gillespie.  What's  the  trouble  this  time?  I'm 
sorry  the  boy  needs  me  so  soon  again. 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  doctor,  I  don't  know!     I  came  home  late and 

the  maid  had  put  him  to  bed and  I  just  found  these 

[showing  him  the  clothes]  Oh,  he  must  be  terribly  hurt  some 
way! 

DR.  G. — [examining  the  clothes]  Why,  my  dear  lady!  But  I  must 
see  the  child!  Every  minute  counts. 

[60] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

GILLESPIE  —  Come  upstairs,  Doctor. 

DR.  G.  —  We'll  probably  need  some  hot  water  immediately. 
Can  you  tell  your  maid?  [to  MRS.  GILLESPIE] 

MRS.  G.  —  Oh,  Carly,  dear,  you  put  on  the  kettle!  Foogi'll 
never  understand.  I'll  send  her  down.  Come,  Dr.  Graham. 
[They  exeunt,  the  doctor  carrying  the  stained  clothes.  Exit 
GILLESPIE  into  the  kitchen.] 

[Enter  FOOGI.  She  goes  to  the  table  and  begins  to  clear  ity  taking 
the  eatables  into  the  kitchen,  and  putting  the  plates  and  small 
articles  on  the  buffet.] 

[Enter  GILLESPIE.  He  carries  a  small  copy-book.]  Foogi!  [She 
starts  and  looks  at  him  demurely.]  What  you  do  all  day? 

FOOGI  —  Work  -  alle  day!    Take  care  babbee.    Ver'  good,  nice 


[THE  INFANT  cries.] 

GILLESPIE  —  What  makes  the  baby  cry?     What  you  do  to  him? 
FOOGI  —  Aw!   Ver'  good,  nice  babbee!   No  much  kli! 

GILLESPIE  —  He  is  crying  too  much  now.  He's  sick  -  baby's 
sick.  Don't  you  know  why  he  cries? 

FOOGI  —  Aw!     Babbee  sick?  Too  bad!  Ver'  bad! 

GILLESPIE  —  [impatiently]  Yes,  too  bad!  [He  shows  her  the  copy 
book.]  See,  here!  Is  this  yours?  Is  this  what  you  do  all  day? 
I  pay  you  to  work,  take  care  baby,  not  write  all  day! 

FOOGI  —  [sullenly]  Aw!  Write  li'l  -  can  no  alle  time  work! 
Babbee  sleep  sometime.  Foogi  write,  study  -  same  'Mer'- 
can  girl. 

GILLESPIE  —  [groaning]  "  'Mer'can"  girl!  What  was  the  baby 
crying  about  when  I  came  home  tonight? 

FOOGI  —  [innocently]  Kli?    Babbee  kli?    Ver'  nice  babbee! 

GILLESPIE  —  [insistently]  Something  has  happened  to  him.  He 
fall  down  ?  Where  did  he  fall  down  ? 

FOOGI  —  [reproachfully]  Aw!  No  fall  down!  No!  Ver'  nice,  good 
babbee! 

[61] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

GILLESPIE — Oh,  this  is  hopeless!  Clear  the  table!  Clear  the 
table!  [He  stands  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  listens  ^then  turns 

away  with  a  sigh.}    Let  me  know  when  that  water  boils 

[pointing]  water  boils! 

FOOGI— [meekly]  Yis,  Mis'  Gillesp'.     [Exits  into  kitchen.] 

GILLESPIE — [starting  up  the  stairs  meets  the  others  coming  down. 
They  enter.} 

DR.  G. — I  cannot  really  discover  any  cause  for  excessive  alarm, 
Mr.  Gillespie.  He  has  considerable  temperature,  but  I  think 
that  when  his  mother  has  made  him  comfortable  he  will 
probably  go  to  sleep.  After  he  has  had  the  hot  bath,  Mrs. 
Gillespie,  give  him  another  of  the  powders. 

MRS.  G. — And  you  think  he'll  really,  really  be  all  right?  That 
awful  blood,  Doctor,  what  can  it  be  ? 

DR.  G. — [smiling  gravely]  Nose-bleed  probably.  If  not  his,  then 
someone  else's;  or  his  nurse  may  have  cut  her  finger.  I'll 
call  early  in  the  morning  and  make  a  more  thorough  investi 
gation.  Sleep  seems  to  be  what  the  child  wants  at  present. 
I'll  leave  this  prescription  to  be  filled,  Mr.  Gillespie. 

GILLESPIE — Yes,  I'll  go  for  it  right  away.  Thank  you  so  much 
for  coming,  Doctor,  at  this  hour. 

DR.  G. — No  thanks;  that's  what  I'm  for,  giving  prescriptions 

only  another  name  for  advice  which  we're  all  fond  of  giving. 
Good-night,  [shaking  hands  with  MRS.  GILLESPIE]  Cheer  up! 
Take  my  word  for  it,  the  little  chap  will  be  better  in  the  morn 
ing.  [Exit.] 

MRS.  G.— [To  MR.  G.  as  he  starts  to  follow.}  Oh,  Carl!  I'm  sure 
he's  concealing  something.  Ask  him  to  tell  you  the  truth. 

[Exit  GILLESPIE.     She  walks  nervously  up  and  down.] 
[Enter  GILLESPIE  and  DR.  GRAHAM.] 

DR.  G. — I  am  concealing  nothing,  Mrs.  Gillespie.  You  are 
nervous  and  excited  and  are  conjuring  up  phantoms.  May 
I  talk  with  you  a  little? 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  I  should  love  to  have  you! 

[62] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

DR.  G. — As  soon  as  that  water  boils  I'll  go.  Your  dinner  was 
disturbed  by  that  little  plague  upstairs  I'm  afraid. 

GILLESPIE — [ruefully]  Well,  yes,  rather!     But  that's  no  matter. 

DR.  G. — Don't  you  know  that  you  are  playing  right  into  my 
hands,  into  mine  and  all  my  fraternity's  with  this  constant 

rush,  rush,  rush .    Here's  this  little  lady how  often  of  a 

morning  do  I  see  her  running  past  my  house  for  a  car! 

MRS.  G. — [hesitating]  Yes this  morning  it  was  for  the  child 

psychology  class! 

DR.  G. — [slowly]  I've  left  one  prescription  for  the  baby.  May 
I  leave  another?  One  that  will  benefit  you  both? 

MRS.  G. — Why,  yes  indeed! 

DR.  G. — Give  him more  of  his  mother,  Mrs.  Gillespie.  Study 

infant  psychology  at  first  hand;  you've  no  idea  how  interesting 
it  is.  [MRS.  G.  begins  to  sob.]  Pardon  me  if  I  distress  you,  but 
I  see  so  many  mistakes  in  going  my  rounds.  Oh,  we  old 
people  make  them  too! 

GILLESPIE — Cheer  up,  Twink!     It's  all  right. 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  I'm  a  beast!  A  selfish  beast!  When  you're  slav 
ing  away  at  the  office  all  day,  here  I  am  gadding  about,  and 
dear  Kiddums  getting  killed! 

GILLESPIE — [guiltily]   Well,   I'm   not er slaving   all  the 

time,  Twink.     Guess  I  could  stick  to  business  better  if  I  tried. 

DR.  G. — You're  a  stranger  to  me,  Mr.  Gillespie,  although  I've 
watched  you  grow  up  from  a  distance.  Pardon  an  old  friend 
of  your  father  for  speaking  plainly.  May  I  give  you  a  pre 
scription  too? 

GILLESPIE — Why,  sure!     I  mean,  of  course!    Glad  to  take  it. 
DR.  G. — It  may  be  a  bitter  pill.     Will  you  swallow  it? 
GILLESPIE — Just  watch  me! 

DR.  G. — Mr.  Delafield  consulted  me  about  you  last  week.  Per 
sonally  I  knew  almost  nothing  about  you,  but  I  told  him  that 
the  son  of  such  a  father  must  amount  to  something,  so  he 

[63] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

decided  to  make  you  the  offer  for  which  you  had  an  oppor 
tunity  this  afternoon. 

GILLESPIE — Yes er 1 

DR.  G. — Late  this  afternoon  he  told  me  that  one  of  his  boys 
had  seen  you  at  the  baseball  game. 

GILLESPIE — [ruefully]  Yes,  an  afternoon  thrown  away!  The 
"Brown  Bears"  lost  after  all! 

DR.  G. — It  was  more  than  an  afternoon  thrown  away,  Mr. 
Gillespie.  That  was  a  fine  offer  from  a  splendid  man  that 
you  missed;  but,  as  he  said,  one  of  his  first  requirements  was 
promptness.  Well,  a  physician's  prescriptions  should  always 
be  brief,  and  [smiling]  we're  always  afraid  of  our  own  medicine, 
you  know.  It's  sometimes  effective!  [abruptly]  Good-by.  I'll 
call  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Good-by.  [He  hurries  out, 
followed  by  GILLESPIE.] 

MRS.  G. — [rises,  wipes  her  eyes.  Seeing  her  parcels  on  the  couch 
she  throws  them  impatiently  on  the  floor  and  kicks  them  under 
the  couch.] 

[Enter  GILLESPIE.] 
GILLESPIE — Why,  Twinkle-Star,  what  are  you  doing? 

MRS.  G. — I  never  want  to  see  a  bargain  again!  [catching  up  the 
baby's  dress]  I  must  ask  Foogi  about  this.  Maybe  she  can 
throw  some  light  on  the  subject. 

GILLESPIE — No  use,  Twink,  I've  tried.  You  might  as  well  try 
to  get  cream  from  water.  [He  puts  his  arm  around  her.  She 
notices  his  finger.] 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  poor  finger!  [kissing  it]  Is  it  very  bad? 

GILLESPIE — No,  just  a  slight  cut  on  a  bit  of  broken  glass,  [glanc 
ing  toward  the  corner  near  the  buffet]  Why the  dickens!  Of 

course!  Twink!  There's  your  bloody  tragedy.  [He  leads  her 
to  the  corner  and  points.]  There's  your  "Spanish,"  broken  to 
bits.  Of  course  that's  The  Infant's  work,  while  Whoogi 
struggled  with  the  higher  education.  [He  shows  MRS.  G.  the 
copy-book.]  Well he  was  a  small  shrimp  smeared  "Span 
ish"  all  right!  [roaring  with  laughter] 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  Carl!  Do  you  really  think?  [She  dabs  her  finger 
in  the  corner  and  makes  a  new  spot  on  the  dress.]  It  is!  It  is! 
An  exact  match!  [She  sinks  on  the  floor  and  laughs  hysterically .] 

GILLESPIE — Trust  you,  old  bargain  hunter,  to  know  a  match 
when  you  see  it ! 

MRS.  G. — Carl!    Don't!    Oh,  my  little  Kiddums!  [pressing  the 

dress  to  her  cheek]  Carly- do  you  know the  Doctor  was 

right?  The  lecturer  this  morning  said  a  whole  lot  about  re 
sponsibility,  and  I've  always  hated  that  word,  it  sounds  so 
middle-aged  and  awful,  and  I  didn't  listen  to  that  part,  but 
I  liked  the  psychology  part  of  it,  the  colors  and  all  those 
things,  you  know,  "as  related  to  the  child."  [Her  voice  un 
consciously  adopts  a  lecturer  s  tone.} 

GILLESPIE — Yes,  but  I've  heard  that  the  colors  are  really  the 
least  part  of  it.  Do  you  know,  Twink,  I  somehow  feel  differ 
ent  since  I  came  home  tonight?  [He  helps  her  to  rise.}  I  think 
you  and  I  have  got  to  remember  that  we're  grown  up,  don't 
you? 

MRS.  G. — [soberly]  Yes 1 suppose  so!     [He  takes  her  in 

his  arms.] 

FOOGI — [appearing  in  the  kitchen  doorway.  Short  pause]  Water 
boil  long  time.  [They  start.] 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  yes,  we  must  go  up  to  Kiddums!  Foogi,  bring 
the  water.  [FOOGI  exits  into  the  kitchen,  and  re-appears  with  the 
steaming  kettle.  MR.  and  MRS.  GILLESPIE  go  toward  C.  £., 
talking  volubly,  she  with  the  dress  and  skirt  over  her  arm.} 

GILLESPIE — No  more  baseball  games  for  me! 

MRS.  G. — Oh,  you  don't  need  to  get  too  old  all  at  once,  Carly! 
But  I  tell  you!  We'll  have  a  calendar  all  fixed  up,  and  when 

you  get  a  baseball  game,  I'll  balance  it  with  a  "shower" 

and 

GILLESPIE — Well,  perhaps  about  one  a  month 

MRS.  G. — [as  they  disappear  up  the  stairs]  I'm  sure  I  don't  want 
one  very  often. 


A  MODERN  MENAGE 

GILLESPIE — will  do  me 

MRS.  G. — They're  silly  things  anyway 

FOOGI — [stands  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  a  moment,  looking  up] 
"Silly  things  anyway!"  [She  giggles  and  ascends.  THE  IN 
FANT  is  heard  crying  as] 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 


66 


THE  INVENTOR  -  A  Dramatic  Sketch 
[CHARACTERS] 


CLEM  CURTIS. 
MARY  CURTIS. 
BOB  MATTHEWS. 


[SCENE] 


A  cheap  lodging-house  bedroom.  A  bureau,  table, 
and  chair  are  at  right,  a  bed  is  at  left.  The  entrance 
from  the  hall  is  at  center. 


THE  INVENTOR  •  A  Dramatic  Sketch 


T  curtain  a  woman's  sobs  are  heard  from  the  adjoining 
room,  left. 
[Enter  CLEM  CURTIS  and  BOB  MATTHEWS.] 

[They  are  of  the  average  young  American  type  of  which  one  sees 

thousands  every  day.     CLEM  is  rather  better  looking  than  BOB,  and 

better  dressed.    He  carries  a  roll  of  blue-prints  and  a  newspaper. 

BOB,  whose  room  it  is,  carries  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  package  of 

cheese.    Hearing  the  woman's  sobs  they  pause  at  the  entrance  to 

listen.} 

CLEM — Say,  Bob,  what's  the  row? 

BOB — Oh,  that's  a  kid  next  door!  She's  been  at  it  like  that 
two  or  three  times  this  week.  [He  closes  the  door.] 

CLEM — Kid?  That's  no  kid,  that's  a  woman.  [He  tosses  the  roll 
of  prints  on  the  bureau.] 

BOB — [putting  packages  on  bureau]  I  don't  mean  exactly  a  kid, 
but  I've  caught  glimpses  of  her  going  in  and  out  a  few  times, 
and  she  looked  pretty  young  and  down  on  her  luck.  [The 
sobbing  ceases.] 

CLEM — Not  a  very  cheerful  neighbor,  I  should  say.  [opening 
newspaper] 

BOB — No,  but  she's  considerate,  I'll  say  that  for  her.  She 
always  stops  when  she  hears  me  come  in. 

CLEM — [scanning  the  front  page  of  the  paper]  Hum !  There  it  is. 
[He  looks  rather  pleased  with  himself.] 

BOB — [looking  over  his  shoulder]  Let's  see.  Good  for  you,  old 
man!  [slapping  CLEM  on  the  back]  That's  what  success  means. 

CLEM — [impatiently]  What's  it  all  worth  to  me! 

BOB — Say,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Clem?  You've  got  a 
grouch  lately,  worse  than  ever. 

[69] 


THE  INVENTOR 

CLEM — Well  I  guess  I  have,  Bob.  There's  no  use  trying  to 
hide  it. 

BOB — What's  the  trouble?    Spit  it  out. 

CLEM — Oh,  dry  up!  It's  enough  to  be  soured  on  the  world  with 
out  bothering  all  your  friends. 

BOB — That's  the  kind  of  friend  I  am;  made  to  be  bothered. 

CLEM — You're  all  right >  Bob;  you've  stood  a  lot  from  me.  I'll 
tell  you it's  this  way.  A  year  ago  I  had  a  wife 

BOB — [surprised]  First  I  knew  about  it! 

CLEM and  a  home  and  everything.  There  was  a  kid  ex 
pected,  and  we  were  just  waiting  for  that,  thinking  how  happy 
we'd  be. 

BOB — And  you  busy,  meanwhile,  over  your  invention,  I  suppose? 

CLEM — Yes,  of  course.  Naturally  I  was  busy  over  that.  Some 
nights  I  couldn't  go  home  at  all.  I  couldn't  really  work  at 
home. 

BOB — Well,  what  happened? 

CLEM — I  came  home  one  night  and  she  wasn't  there.     Simply 

walked   in   and   found   the  house  empty,  and [His  voice 

freaks.] 

"Box— [sympathetically]  And? 

CLEM — And  from  that  night  to  this  I've  never  heard  a  word  or 
found  a  trace.  She  made  the  cleverest  get-away  I  ever  saw. 

BOB — Strange!    Why  should  she  go? 

CLEM — They  do  say  women  are  queer  at  such  times. 

BOB — How  long  ago  was  this? 

CLEM — About  eight  months. 

BOB — What  did  you  do  about  trying  to  find  her? 

CLEM — I  notified  the  police  to  work  on  the  quiet.  I  did  every 
thing  I  could  think  of.  The  trouble  is  she  left  absolutely  no 
clue  to  work  on. 

[70] 


THE  INVENTOR 

BOB — Hum !    Queer ! 

CLEM — And  since  then  all  my  luck  has  come. 

BOB — All  your  luck?  Perhaps  she  thought  she  was  part  of  your 
luck! 

CLEM — Oh,  well,  you  know  what  I  mean!  Your  wife  and  your 
business  are  two  different  propositions. 

BOB — Are  they?     I  didn't  know! 

CLEM — Of  course! 

BOB — Maybe  that's  where  you  made  a  mistake. 

CLEM — What  do  you  know  about  it?    You  never  had  a  wife. 

BOB — No,  nor  invented  anything.     I  never  had  brains  enough! 

CLEM — For  which? 

BOB— Both! 

CLEM — Brains  to  get  married!    That  doesn't  take  brains! 

BOB — So  you  thought.  That's  where  you  were  dead  wrong. 
But  whatever  it  took,  you  didn't  make  a  success  of  it,  did  you? 
But  I  needn't  talk.  I  don't  know  anything  about  women! 

CLEM — Oh,  come  off! 

BOB — Sure  thing!     I  know  there  are  two  kinds good  and 

bad.    The  good  ones  are  just  like  a  fairy  dream,  out  of  my 
reach!    And,  well er nix  on  the  bad  ones! 

CLEM — You're  a  queer  duck! 
BOB— Maybe! 

CLEM — Well,  mine  turned  out  to  be  a  "fairy  dream,"  I  guess! 
But  I'll  never  stop  looking  for  it  to  come  back  again,  [excitedly] 
Sometimes  the  suspense  is  hell,  Bob.  I  imagine  all  sorts  of 
things.  Sometimes  I  picture  her  the  victim  of  some  dreadful 
outrage;  then  again  I  get  into  a  devil  of  a  rage  against  her  for 
leaving  me  like  that.  It  just  puts  me  back  again  a  few  years 
to  the  time  when  I  hadn't  any  faith  in  the  sex! 

BOB — I  don't  see  that  they  have  anything  on  us  in  that  respect! 

[711 


THE  INVENTOR 

CLEM — Oh,  well,  what's  the  use!  Let's  forget  it!  [looking  at  his 
picture  in  the  paper]  Doesn't  this  look  like  success  and  happi 
ness  ?  Look  at  that  grin !  Say,  I  never  looked  like  that,  did  I  ? 

BOB — [taking paper]  Can't  say  you  ever  did!  A  whole  column 
about  you,  eh?  Gee,  that's  great!  And  the  board  of  direc 
tors  is  going  to  give  you  a  dinner! 

CLEM — Yes!  What  do  I  want  a  dinner  given  me  for!  But  I 
suppose  it's  all  part  of  the  game. 

BOB — Sure!  You  said  you  were  going  to  show  me  the  drawings 
of  your  invention.  Have  you  got  them  there? 

CLEM — Yes.  [taking  roll  of  blue-prints,  opening  it]  It  doesn't  look 
much  on  paper.  You  see  this  little  jigger  here?  That's  what 
the  whole  fuss  is  about.  That's  what  cost  me  months  of 

study  and  work.     But  fascinating !    Holy  smoke,  how 

the  time  slips  away  from  you!  The  company  says  it's  what 
they've  been  looking  for  for  years.  It  just  fits  into  the  machine 
like  a  miracle  and  reduces  the  wear  and  tear  one  half. 

BOB — Wonderful!  And  all  out  of  that  old  top  of  yours!  [thump 
ing  CLEM'S  head]  Describe  it  to  me. 

CLEM — [looking  at  his  watch]  See  here,  I  haven't  time  now.  I'm 
late  for  an  appointment  as  it  is.  Suppose  I  leave  these  here; 
you  can  look  them  over,  and  I'll  come  around  tomorrow 
evening. 

BOB — All  right;  I'll  take  care  of  them  for  you. 

CLEM — [rolls  up  the  prints  and  tosses  them  on  the  bed\  So  long, 
then.  Eat  hearty !  [indicating  the  bread  and  cheese] 

BOB — Thanks.  So  long.  [CLEM  goes  out.  BOB  takes  off  his  coat 
and  shoes  and  puts  on.  slippers.  The  sobbing  next  door  recom 
mences.  It  makes  BOB  nervous.  He  takes  a  plate ,  knife  and  glass 
out  of  one  of  the  bureau  drawers  and  puts  them  on  the  table. 
The  sobbing  continues.  Unable  to  stand  it  any  longer  he  pounds 
on  the  wall  near  the  bed.]  Say,  won't  you  quit  that,  please? 
Please  do,  kid!  [The  sobbing  becomes  hysterical.]  Oh,  Lord! 
Here's  a  nice  cheerful  tune  to  eat  supper  by!  Some  cabaret 
stunt,  all  right!  Listen  here,  Gracie! Mamie! Arabella! 


THE  INVENTOR 

Mary! [The  sobbing  ceases.}    Ah,  ha!    I  thought  I'd 

strike  it!  I'll  come  in  there  and  get  you  if  you  don't  look  out. 
[The  sobs  are  spasmodic.]  I  guess  I'll  come  anyway  and  settle 
this.  [He  goes  out  and  is  heard  knocking.}  Come  on,  now,  I 

won't  hurt  you. Be  a  lady! Come  out  here! [The 

sobbing  ceases.  BOB  reappears,  talking  of.]  Come  along  and 
tell  me  all  about  it.  I  can't  stand  this  every  night.  It  gets 
on  my  nerves.  Come  in;  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  to 
help. 

[MARY  CURTIS  appears  in  the  doorway,  then  reluctantly  she  fol 
lows  BOB  into  the  room.  MARY  is  a  young  woman  of  twenty- 
three  or  so,  very  pale,  and  shabbily  dressed.  She  has  a  refined, 
sweet  face.] 

BOB — I'm  no  crook.     I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you. 

MARY — [her  breath  coming  in  gasps]  I'm  not  afraid.     It it 

isn't  that.     I 1  just  get  so  awful  lonely  in  there  at  night 

1  can't  stand  it. 

BOB — This  is  the  first  time  I've  had  a  good  look  at  you.     I 

thought  you  were  a  kid [MARY  ejaculates  "  Kid/"] when 

I  heard  you  bawling  these  last  few  nights,  but  I  guess  you're 
a  woman  grown  with  troubles  of  your  own  like  the  rest  of  us. 

MARY — That's  right.     I've  had  troubles  enough. 

BOB — [getting  the  bread  and  cheese,  and  arranging  them  on  plates 
on  the  table]  You  don't  happen  to  be  hungry  or  anything,  do 
you?  Because  I'm  having  a  party  right  now  and  you  might 
like  to  stay  to  it,  eh? 

MARY — Hungry!  [She  sways  a  trifle.  BOB  catches  her,  and  seats 
her  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  then  makes  her  lie  down.] 

BOB — There  now,  you  stay  right  there.  [He  puts  a  slice  of  bread 
into  her  hand.]  I  haven't  got  a  blamed  bit  of  booze  in  this 
shebang.  Chew  away  on  that  till  I  get  back.  All  right  now, 
are  you?  [MARY  nods.]  You  just  keep  quiet;  I'll  run  down 
and  get  a  drop  of  something  to  add  to  my  party.  Don't  you 
worry;  nobody '11  be  in.  I'm  not  bothered  with  swell  visitors 
at  this  time  of  night. 

[He  goes  out.    MARY  lies  still  a  moment  with  closed  eyes,  munch- 

[73) 


THE  INVENTOR 

ing  the  bread.  The  newspaper  is  under  her  head,  it  bothers  her, 
she  draws  it  out  and  pushes  aside  the  roll  of  blue-prints.  She 
raises  herself  a  little  and  glances  over  the  newspaper.  She  sees 
the  picture  of  CLEM.] 

MARY — Oh,  Clem,  Clem!  [Reads.]  "Young  Inventor  to  be  hon 
ored  by  Steel  Company  with  banquet."  [Her  voice  drops  as  she 
murmurs  a  few  more  words  from  the  paper,  then  louder.]  Oh, 
Clem,  I  guess  it's  good  I  didn't  stand  in  your  way!  [There 
is  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  cowers  down,  her  face  hidden.] 

CLEM — [Outside,]  Hello,  Bob !  [partially  opening  the  door]  Can  I 
come  in?  I  forgot  I'd  need  those  prints  tonight.  I  had  to 

come  back  for  them.  I'll  let  you [Realizing  that  BOB  is  not 

there,  amused  at  himself,  he  enters.]  Hello,  where  are  you?  [He 
goes  to  the  bureau.]  Where  did  I  leave  them?  [Going  toward 

the  bed,  he  sees  MARY.]  Well,  I'll  be !  [He  stands  transfixed 

at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  roll  of  prints  is  out  of  his  reach,  near 
her  head.  She  stirs.]  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  would  you 
mind  handing  me  that  roll  of  prints,  if  you're  not  asleep? 
[MAKY  fumbles  blindly  for  the  roll.]  Oh,  no,  that's  not  where  it 
is!  [a  murmur  from  MARY]  All  right,  I'll  take  them  myself. 
[Going  to  the  side  of  the  bed  he  reaches  for  the  roll.  A  bit  of  her 
hair  catches  on  his  sleeve.  He  frees  it,  gazing  fixedly  at  her.  He 
hesitates,  then  goes  to  the  door.]  Thanks,  sorry  to  have  disturbed 
you.  [Still  looking  back,  puzzled,  he  runs  into  BOB,  entering.] 
Excuse  me!  I  had  no  intention  of  butting  in.  My  mistake! 
[BOB  protests.]  Oh,  that's  all  right!  No  explanations  necessary. 
[CLEM  goes  out  hurriedly,  leaving  BOB  speechless.  He  enters, 
carrying  a  bottle  of  "  Tipo  "  Chianti.] 

MARY — [sitting  up,  gasping]  Oh,  Oh,  Oh! 

BOB — It's  too  bad  you  were  disturbed,  little  girl.  Never  mind; 
I'll  have  it  out  with  him  soon. 

MARY — [excitedly]  That's  my  husband.    Oh,  Clem,  Clem! 

BOB — [starting  to  the  door]  Your  husband? 

MARY — [springing  up  and  catching  him]  No,  no,  not  yet!    He 

must  not  see  me  yet. 
BOB — Why  not  now?    You  could  have  it  all  over  in  a  minute 

and  be  happy. 

[74] 


THE  INVENTOR 

MARY — Oh,  you  don't  know!     I  must  be  sure  that  he  wants  me. 

BOB — Wants  you?  Why,  he's  dying  for  you.  Didn't  he  tell 
me  that  this  very  evening?  [He  still  tries  to  get  to  the  door,  but 
MARY  prevents  him.]  Oh,  all  right  then,  we'll  wait!  Come 
along,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  [He  makes  her  sit  at  the  table.] 
Let's  see,  where's  my  chair?  [He  looks  cautiously  out  into  the 
hall.]  Seems  to  me  I  noticed  it  out  here.  [He  brings  a  wooden 
box  in  from  the  hall,  and  sits  on  it  at  the  table.]  There  now! 
Let's  have  our  party  while  we  discuss  our  troubles  with  light 
and  airy  persiflage,  eh? 

MARY — [smiles,  and  begins  to  eat]  You're  great  on  kidding,  aren't 
you? 

BOB — You  bet!     It  makes  life  go  easier. 

MARY — That's  true;  but  sometimes  life  gets  so  hard  you  can't 
smile. 

BOB — Guess  you've  had  it  pretty  hard,  eh? 
MARY — Um-hum ! 

BOB — Don't  you  feel  like  talking  about  it?  It  might  do  you 
good. 

MARY — Maybe  it  would.  It  seems  easy  to  talk  to  you.  Here's 
something  I  want  to  show  you.  [She  draws  a  small  photograph 
from  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  her  eyes  shining.]  This  is  my  baby. 
Isn't  he  a  darling?  I  guess  I  was  foolish  getting  his  picture 
taken,  but  that  was  two  months  ago  when  I  had  work,  and 
it  didn't  cost  much. 

BOB — [enthusiastically]    Gee!  That's  some  baby,  all  right. 
MARY — And  he's  the  perfect  image  of  Clem,  [wistfully]  Isn't  he? 

BOB — Oh,  sure!  I'm  an  expert  on  babies'  likenesses!  [He 
makes  a  wry  face,  unseen  by  MARY.]  How  old  is  he  ? 

MARY — Six  months. 

BOB — And  eight  months  ago  you  wandered  out  into  the  world 

thinking  you  could  face  it  alone,  eh,  with  this  little  chap? 
MARY — Why,  how  did  you  know? 
BOB — Oh,  I  know  some  things! 

[751 


THE  INVENTOR 

MARY — But  there's  lots  of  things  you  don't  know.  There's  so 
much  men  don't  know! 

BOB — Well,  tell  me  some  of  them.  Tell  me  what  happened  when 
you  left  home  that  night? 

MARY — That  night!     Clem  has  told  you! 

BOB — I'm  a  "Wiz,"  I  tell  you.     I  know  everything! 

MARY — I  think  you  do! 

BOB — Well,  go  on  anyway.  I  want  to  hear  you  tell  about  that 
night. 

MARY — [reminiscently,  vaguely]  It  was  dark and  late and 

cold.  I  sat  so  long  in  front  of  the  fire  that  I  don't  remember 
when  it  went  out.  I  only  remember  how  long  it  seemed  since 
I  had  seen  Clem.  He  had  been  gone  all  day,  since  early 
morning.  I  had  got  up  earlier  than  usual  to  give  him  his 
breakfast.  When  supper  time  came  he  sent  word  by  a  boy 
next  door  that  he  couldn't  come  yet;  that  he  had  to  see  a 
very  important  man.  I  didn't  feel  well  that  day.  My  head 
was  all  funny,  and  I  couldn't  think  straight,  and  I  began  to 
think  how  nice  it  would  be  if  I  went  to  sleep  and  never  woke 
up. 

BOB — [emphatically]  That's  where  you  should  have  got  up  and 
gone  to  bed,  and  had  a  good  sleep  like  a  sensible  girl. 

MARY — Yes,  that  was  what  Clem  was  always  telling  me.  But, 
you  see,  he  didn't  understand  how  I  felt. 

BOB — Then  what  happened?  » 

MARY — I  forget.  But  the  people  that  I  went  to  told  me  that 
I  must  have  put  a  few  of  my  clothes  in  a  bag,  because  I  had 
them  with  me.  The  next  thing  I  remember  I  was  lying  down 
by  the  water  near  the  lake.  I  guess  I  must  have  fainted. 

I 1  sat  there  for  awhile and and 1  crept  back 

into  some  shrubbery  because  I  heard  a  policeman  go  by.  Then 
I  could  remember  everything,  and  I  was  ashamed  to  think  I 
had  run  away.  I  thought  I  had  better  end  it  right  there. 
Then  I  thought  of  Baby,  and  how  wicked  it  would  be  to  take 
away  its  little  life  without  its  having  a  chance  to  say  if  it 


THE  INVENTOR 

wanted  to  live.  But  I  didn't  want  to  go  back.  Clem  didn't 
want  me.  His  business  meant  more  to  him.  So  I  just  sat 
there,  and  by  and  by  morning  came,  and  I  knew  what  to  do. 

BOB — What  was  that? 

MARY — I  went  straight  to  the  milliner's  where  I  used  to  work, 
and  she  was  awful  kind  to  me.  I  told  her  all  about  it,  and  I 
found  out  she  was  unhappy  too.  She  promised  to  let  me  stay 
there,  and  wouldn't  ever  tell.  I  could  sit  in  the  back  room 
and  work  on  the  hats,  and  nobody  except  two  of  the  girls  ever 
knew  I  was  there.  I  could  do  a  lot  of  work,  you  see.  It  was 
easy  for  me  because  I  was  an  old  hand  at  it.  Then  some 
times  I  cooked  her  dinner  for  her  when  she  was  tired. 

BOB — And  you  weren't  ever  tired,  I  suppose? 

MARY — [simply]  Yes,  I  was  always  tired.  But  then,  you  know 
how  it  is,  you  don't  always  have  time  to  be. 

BOB — Yes,  I  know!    Same  as  some  men  don't  have  time  to  be 

kind! 

MARY — I  guess  they  mean  to  be,  but  they  don't  know! 
BOB — Go  on,  I'm  interrupting  your  story. 

MARY — It  was  all  right  till  Baby  came.  My  friend  was  so  good, 
but  afterward  it  wasn't  so  easy  to  work,  and  it  was  hard  keep 
ing  Baby  in  the  little  back  room.  Then  my  friend  got  sick  and 
I  couldn't  stay  there  in  the  way.  She  felt  awful  bad  about 
it,  and  got  one  of  her  rich  customers  to  put  Baby  into  a  home 
where  they  take  care  of  'em  for  just  a  little  paid  in  every  week. 
Then  I  got  work  for  awhile  in  the  shirt  factory  but,  you  know 

the  strike's  been  on  for  three  weeks,  and and oh,  I've  been 

looking  everywhere  but  I  can't  find  anything  to  do!  Some 
times  I  try  to  get  housework,  but  I  haven't  any  references, 
and  when  I  go  into  a  house  where  they  don't  ask  for  references 
they  are  so  awful  mean.  [She  sinks  her  head  on  her  hands.] 

BOB — So  you  got  the  blue  jim-jams,  eh? 

MARY — And,  oh,  I  did  want  Clem  to  see  Baby! 

BOB — Why  didn't  you  go  back? 

MARY — How  could  I,  and  me  leaving  as  I  did?     Besides  I  did 


THE  INVENTOR 

creep  back  one  night,  late,  and  hung  around  awhile,  but  the 
house  was  dark,  no  sign  of  anybody,  so  I  just  came  away 
again. 

BOB — Didn't  it  ever  strike  you  that  you  were  treating  Clem 
unkindly? 

MARY — Yes.  I  hated  to  think  of  that.  But  then  I  thought  may 
be  it  was  best,  because  when  I  came  away  I  didn't  know  I  was 
doing  it,  and  perhaps  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of  me  anyway,  so 
he  could  spend  all  his  time  on  his  work. 

BOB — You  see  that's  where  you  made  a  mistake. 

MARY — I  didn't  know.  How  could  I  know!  It's  a  queer  way 
to  love  a  person,  to  stay  away  from  them  all  the  time! 

BOB — He  realizes  that  now. 

MARY — [pushing  aside  her  plate]  Tell  me  what  he  said. 

BOB — His  success  in  business  now  means  nothing  to  him.  He 
is  "soured  on  the  world,"  to  use  his  own  expression.  And 
why?  Because  he  has  lost  you! 

MARY — Ah,  did  he  say  that?    Are  you  sure? 

BOB — Sure  thing!  In  this  very  room  not  half  an  hour  ago.  You 
heard  us  come  in,  because  you  stopped  short  in  that  cabaret 
stuff  you  were  pulling  off. 

MARY— Oh,  don't! 

BOB — Never  mind,  little  girl,  you  run  along  now  and  dream 
about  tomorrow.  You  leave  it  to  me;  we'll  have  the  grand 
finale  all  right.  Family  reunion  and  all  that  stuff! 

MARY — I  can't  believe  it's  true!  How  long  have  you  known 
Clem? 

BOB — Only  a  few  months.  Come  to  think  of  it,  it  must  have 
been  very  soon  after  you  took  that  evening  walk,  that  I  ran 
across  him  at  "Coffee  Dan's."  Of  all  the  glum  individuals 
he  was  the  worst  ever!  I  sort  of  took  it  on  myself  to  jolly 
him  along. 

MARY — Didn't  he  ever  say  anything  about  me  then? 

[78] 


THE  INVENTOR 

BOB — Not  a  peep  out  of  him!  I  kept  meeting  him  around  dif 
ferent  places,  you  know  how  it  is;  we  fellows  never  talk  much 
about  personal  affairs  unless  we  run  plumb  up  against  it. 

MARY — What  made  him  tell  you  tonight? 

BOB — Well  I  pinned  him  right  down  to  it.  He's  been  coming 
to  me  lately  more  and  more.  I  taxed  him  with  a  grouch  and 
he  came  through  with  it.  You  see,  success  doesn't  mean 
much  to  him  now. 

MARY — [picks  up  the  paper]  Poor  Clem !  And  it's  wonderful  what 
he  has  done.  Oh,  I  was  the  selfish  one! 

BOB — Not  on  your  life!  Don't  take  it  that  way.  There's  no 
invention  in  the  world  worth  a  little  woman  like  you,  and  he's 
found  it  out! 

MARY — Oh,  do  you  think  so? 

BOB — Sure!  [A  sharp  knock  on  the  door  startles  them.  CLEM'S 
voice  is  heard.  "Can  I  come  in?  Bob,  I  must  speak  to  you!" 
BOB  starts  up,  MARY  catches  hold  of  him,  imploring.] 

MARY — Oh,  no,  no!    Not  now! 

BOB — Yes,  it's  best  now.  [He  opens  the  door;  CLEM  enters.  MARY 
shrinks  back  a  little  but  faces  him  bravely.] 

CLEM — Mary!  [furiously,  looking  from  one  to  the  other]  I  knew  it 
when  I  saw  you  there!  [pointing  to  bed\  Something  pulled  me 

right  back  here.    Oh,  you,  you !     [BOB  tries  to  restrain 

him.] 

MARY — Yes,  I'm  here  because 

CLEM — Shut  up!  Don't  invent  any  lies;  I'm  no  fool.  So  this 
is  where  you've  been  while  I  was  eating  my  heart  out  and 
searching  the  town  for  you! 

MARY — Clem,  dear,  listen ! 

CLEM — "No  fool,"  I  said.  That's  not  true.  I'm  a  damned  fool 
ever  to  have  trusted  a  woman! 

BOB — Clem,  listen! 

MARY — Clem,  Clem,  I  didn't  know!    You  never  told  me  you 

[791 


THE  INVENTOR 

needed  me.     You  were  always  busy.     I  could  never  do  any 
thing  for  you,  you  always 

CLEM — What  does  it  matter  what  you  thought  or  what  I 
thought?  I  find  you  here!  And  Bob  "didn't  know  anything 
about  women,"  oh,  no! 

BOB — You're  mistaken.     Listen  to  me. 

MARY — I  never  spoke  to  him  until  tonight. 

CLEM — You  think  I'm  "easy,"  don't  you,  to  believe  that? 

MARY — It's  the  truth,  Clem,  I  swear 

BOB — Leave  him  to  me,  Mary. 

CLEM — Seems  to  know  your  name  all  right!  [sneering]  Yes, 
"leave  it  to  him,  Mary!"  I'll  soon  fix  you  both.  [He  whips 
out  a  revolver  and  covers  BOB.  MARY  runs  in  front  of  BOB, 
stretching  out  her  arms  to  protect  him,  and  facing  CLEM.] 

BOB — [trying  to  force  her  away]  No,  no!    Think  of  your  boy. 

MARY — [will  not  step  aside]  I  am  thinking  of  my  boy.  His 
father  must  not  be  a  murderer. 

CLEM — [his  hand  drops]  A  murderer! 

MARY — I've  never  seen  this  man  before  tonight.  I  don't  even 
know  his  name.  He  is  your  friend,  yet  you  are  ready  to  shoot 
him  down  without  a  word.  Very  well,  shoot  him  through  my 
body!  [Her  clear  gaze  disarms  CLEM.  He  drops  the  revolver 
and  sinks  on  the  bedy  his  head  bowed  on  the  foot  of  //,  half  sob 
bing.] 

BOB — [manages  to  force  MARY  into  the  chair]  I  told  you  I  didn't 
know  anything  about  women,  Clem!  [He  picks  up  the  re 
volver  and  places  it  on  the  bureau.] 

MARY — [going  to  CLEM]  If  you  want  me  back,  Clem,  I'll  come. 
You  are  the  man  I  love.  But  I  never  would  have  come  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  your  friend  here. 

CLEM — [brokenly]  But  you  went  away you  went  away! 

BOB — She  went   away,  yes.     In  her  loneliness  she  wandered 

[80] 


THE  INVENTOR 

away,  not  knowing  what  she  did.    She  worked,  suffered,  she 
starved!     While  you 

CLEM — [fiercely,  springing  up]  I  suffered  too! 

BOB — Yes,  in  your  selfish,  well-fed  pride,  you  suffered.  What 
was  that  in  comparison? 

MARY — Don't!  We've  both  been  wrong.  Clem,  dear,  this  man 
says  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  women,  but  he  knows 
something  better.  He  understands  human  feelings.  He  has 

shown  us  both  where  we  were  wrong. [She  slips  her  hand 

into  CLEM'S.]     May  Baby  and  I  come  home? 

CLEM — [catches  her  in  his  arms]  You  first,  Mary!  Just  you! 
[MARY  frees  herself,  takes  the  baby's  photo  from  her  gown  and 

holds  it  up  for  CLEM  to  see.    He  is  astonished.]    A a  boy 

did  you  say?     [She  nods.]    When  may  I  see  him? 

MARY — Tomorrow!  [CLEM  catches  her  in  his  arms,  while  BOB, 
with  a  whimsical  look  toward  them,  ostentatiously  clears  away 
the  plates^ 


[81] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND  •  A  Comedy 


Lend  me  thy  fillet,  Love, 
I  would  no  longer  see; 

Cover  mine  eyelids  close  awhiley 
And  make  me  blind  like  theel 


Lend  her  thy  fillet,  Love, 

Let  her  no  longer  seel 
If  there  is  hope  for  me  at  all, 

She  must  be  blind  like  theel 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 

[CHARACTERS] 

ROSE  ELLISTON,  who  has  been  blind  for  six  years. 
KENNETH  Ross,  an  artist;  her  fiance. 


[SCENE] 


The  Ellistons*  living-room.  It  is  comfortably  fur 
nished.  There  is  a  table  down  left  on  which  are  books 
and  ornaments,  also  two  photographs  of  Rose  and 
Kenneth.  Chairs  are  right  and  left  of  the  table.  A 
small  chair  is  down  right,  and  a  large  chair  up  right 
center.  A  large  mirror  hangs  up  right.  A  small 
hassock  is  right  center,  and  a  couch  up  left.  The 
entrances  are  an  arch-way  at  center  with  portieres 
and  a  door  at  left. 

It  is  mid-afternoon  at  the  present  time. 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND  •  A  Comedy 
77 

JL-jNTER  KENNETH  ROSS,  C.      He  is  a  man  of  thirty ,  and  is 

handsome  enough  to  justify  the  references  made  to  his  good  looks 

in  the  dialogue.     He  carries  a  bunch  of  flowers  and  a  box  of  candy. 

He  places  the  box  on  the  table  and  arranges  the  flowers  carefully 

in  a  vase  on  the  table,  talking  meanwhile  to  Rose's  photograph 

which  he  places  in  close  proximity  to  the  flower "s.] 

KENNETH — There!    I  hope  those  will  please  your  ladyship!    At 

any  rate   they'll  help  me   through   the   trying  ordeal.     [He 

draws  the  large  chair  forward  and  places  the  hassock  in  front 

of  it.]    There's  your  throne,  my  Queen-Rose,  where  you  may 

pass  judgment  on  your  stricken  subject!     [He  places  a  small, 

straight-backed  chair  at  left,  near  the  large  one.}     That  will  do, 

I  suppose,  for  the  prisoner's  box.     I  need  something  stiff  and 

bracing!    Pity  I'm  not  a  drinking  man! Nonsense! 

Why  am  I  taking  it  all  so  seriously!  [taking  up  the  photograph] 
After  two  years  of  faith,  dear,  why  should  I  doubt  you  now? 
[Enter  ROSE  ELLISTON,  C.  She  comes  in  quietly.  She  is  slight 
and  very  sweet-looking.  One  sees  that  she  has  pretty  hair, 
becomingly  dressed,  but  her  other  features  are  partially  obscured 
by  the  bandage  she  wears  over  her  eyes  and  tied  at  the  back  of 
her  head.] 

[KENNETH  feels  her  presence,  goes  to  meet  her,  takes  her  hand  and 
leads  her  to  the  large  chair.] 

KENNETH — Queen-Rose ! 

ROSE — [nervously]  Please  excuse  my  keeping  you  waiting,  Ken 
neth,  but  I  only  this  moment  heard  you  were  here. 

KENNETH — You  knew  what  suspense  I  would  be  in,  didn't  you? 
[He  seats  her  in  the  chair,  and  places  the  hassock  carefully.] 

ROSE — [surprised]  How  very  careful  you  are  of  me  today!  I'm 
not  sick. 

KENNETH — [whimsically]  No,  I  suppose  not;  but  I  am,  may  it 
please  your  royal  highness ! 

[85] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

ROSE — [anxiously]  Oh,  what  is  the  matter?  And  why  should  it 
please  me,  you  silly  boy? 

KENNETH — [laughing  nervously]  Mine  is  an  affection  of  the  heart, 
not  necessarily  dangerous,  but  very  wearing  while  it  lasts! 
[leaning  over  the  back  of  her  chair]  Oh,  you  cruel  little  judge! 
Have  you  any  idea  what  an  ordeal  you  are  putting  me  through 
when  you  sit  there  so  calmly  waiting  to  pass  judgment  on  me? 

ROSE — [excitedly]  Calmly,  do  you  say?  Am  I  to  have  no  credit 
then  for  controlling  my  feelings?  When  you  talk  of  the 
ordeal  of  a  moment,  are  my  six  years  of  suspense  to  count  for 
nothing?  Oh,  Kenneth,  think  what  they've  meant  to  me! 
The  gradual  fading  away  of  the  light,  the  sunshine  and  the 

flowers all  the  dear  faces  of  those  I  loved!    Then  when  the 

dreadful  darkness  came,  the  thought  that  so  it  must  be  all 

through  my  life!    Then you  came,  and  brought  so  much 

light  and  happiness  to  me  that  at  first  I  thought  my  trial 
counted  for  nothing.  But  was  it  nothing,  do  you  think,  to 
hear  your  voice,  to  feel  your  presence  near  me,  and  never  to 
catch  even  a  glimpse  of  your  face?  Ah,  when  you  talk  of 

ordeals,  you  don't  know you  don't  know!    [She  hides  her 

face.} 

KENNETH — [conscience-stricken ,  strokes  her  hair]  Forgive  me, 
dear!  You  have  always  seemed  so  happy  since  I've  known 
you  that  I've  not  realized  the  depth  of  the  trial  you  have  been 

through.     Then all  the  past  year  you've  had  the  hope  of 

regaining  your  eyesight. 

ROSE — Yes,  but [sitting  up  suddenly] what  are  you  doing 

over  here,  sir?  I  wish  you  to  stay  over  there  in  that  chair. 
[She  points  vaguely.  KENNETH  sits  in  the  straight  chair  L, 
with  mock  humility.]  They  were  never  sure  of  the  operation's 
being  successful,  you  know,  but  they  always  hoped,  and  I 

hoped  too.     And  now [standing  up  excitedly]  now  I   am 

going  to  see see!    The  sunshine  and  the  flowers,  my  dear 

father  and  mother  whom  I  haven't  seen  for  six  long  years! 

[KENNETH  goes  to  her.}    And and you!  [shrinking  from 

him] 

KENNETH — [with  repression]  And me!    So  /  come  last? 

[86] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

ROSE — [rallying]  Ah,  no not  last!  Haven't  I  chosen  to  see 

you  first?  Was  it  wrong,  do  you  think?  No,  I  think  they 
understand. 

KENNETH — Yes,  they  understand.  Was  it  only  yesterday  you 
told  me  that  my  face  was  the  first  you  wished  to  see  when  the 
dark  bandages  were  taken  off  which  have  hid  your  sweet  eyes 
so  long  from  the  light?  It  seems  an  eternity. 

ROSE — [shivering  nervously]  Oh,  these  last  twenty-four  hours! 

KENNETH — [lightly]  And  how  much  longer,  may  I  ask,  are  you 
going  to  keep  me  in  suspense?  Your  experience  should  make 
you  more  lenient  toward  the  trials  of  others! 

ROSE — [in  a  spoiled-child  tone]  Papa  says  I'm  about  as  "spoiled 
as  they  make  'em,"  so  I'm  going  to  keep  you  on  the  anxious 
seat  just  as  long  as  I  choose!  [She  goes  toward  him.]  Let  me 
feel  what  chair  you  are  sitting  on.  [KENNETH  sits  quickly  in 

the  straight  chair.]     Good  and  straight and  hard?  [running 

her  fingers  over  the  back  of  the  chair]  Yes,  that's  all  right. 

KENNETH — [folds  his  arms  with  a  resigned  air]  Oh,  it's  hard 
enough!  One  of  those  company  chairs  your  mother  keeps 
for  people  whom  she  doesn't  wish  to  stay  long.  She  never 
makes  me  sit  in  it!  [reproachfully] 

ROSE — I'm  quite  aware  that  mother  is  very  fond  of  you.  She 
is  continually  telling  me  what  a  fortunate  girl  I  am. 

KENNETH — [quizzically]  Well,  aren't  you? 

ROSE — Of  course  I  am!  And  in  the  intervals  of  hearing  of  my 
own  overwhelming  good  fortune,  [making  a  profound  curtsy] 
I  am  continually  informing  her  that  you  are  not  altogether 
unlucky  yourself! 

KENNETH — [starting  up]  Unlucky,  Rose?    What  are  you  saying? 

ROSE — Sit  down!  [listening  until  he  sits]  There,  there,  did  his 
good  luck  go  to  his  head?  But  really,  you  know,  it  is  very 
dangerous  having  a  person's  virtues  held  up  before  one  all  the 
time.  It  wouldn't  be  any  wonder  if  I  hated  you  instead  of 

KENNETH — Instead  of er ?     Continue,  please! 

[87] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

ROSE — Instead  of standing  you  the  way  I  do!    That's  one 

proof  positive  I  have  that  you  are  real  nice  and  homely,  be 
cause  homely  people  are  always  good ! 

KENNETH — [uncomfortably]  That's  rather  a  sweeping  assertion, 
isn't  it? 

ROSE — Well there  are  a  few  wicked  homely  ones,  I  suppose, 

to  prove  the  rule!  [standing  in  front  of  him]  But  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  be  as  homely  as  you  say  you  are  when  you  have 
such  a  nice  nose!  [running  her  forefinger  lightly  down  his  nose] 

KENNETH — [laughing  and  catching  her  hand]  Not  having  been 
born  blind  your  sense  of  touch  has  not  become  much  more 
strongly  developed  than  the  other  four.  Otherwise  you  would 
have  been  convinced  long  ago.  Just  wait  till  you  see  it! 
Ye  gods! 

ROSE — [running  her  fingers  over  his  face]  Are  you  quite  sure  you 
are  very  ugly,  Ken  ? 

KENNETH — [solemnly]  As  ugly  as  7  can  be!  Perhaps  my  capa 
bility  in  that  line  may  not  come  up  to  your  expectations.  To 
be  sure  my  nose  hasn't  a  "Cyrano"  bump,  neither  did  I  have 
the  good  luck  to  be  born  cross-eyed,  but  you  may  discover 
points  of  ugliness  in  me  that  I  never  dreamed  I  possessed. 

ROSE — Now  you  are  laughing  at  me.  Never  mind,  young  sir! 
"He  who  laughs  last,"  you  know!  It's  really  a  serious 
matter  with  me.  I  cannot  abide  a  handsome  man. 

KENNETH — Believe  me,  I  shall  never  be  barred  from  your  favor 
on  that  account,  however  far  I  may  fall  below  your  standards 
in  other  matters.  But  you  took  me  on  faith  and  you'll  have 
to  keep  me.  "Love  is  blind,"  you  know! 

ROSE — Yes,  I  know.  Too  blind  sometimes!  [She  walks  away, 
sniffing.]  What  do  I  smell  that  is  so  sweet?  [Going  to  the  table 
she  feels  the  flowers .]  Oh,  my  roses,  how  lovely  they  are!  You 

dear  things I'm  going  to  see  you  in  a  little  while!  [She 

finds  the  candy  box.]  Candy  too!  You  extravagant  man !  When 
are  you  going  to  begin  to  save  up  your  pennies  for  the  rainy 
days  that  are  sure  to  come? 

KENNETH — They'll  never  be  more  than  April  showers  let  us  hope. 

[88] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

ROSE — They'll  have  to  be  brief  to  correspond  with  your  pennies 
I'm  thinking!  But  never  mind,  it's  so  nice  to  be  poor! 

KENNETH — Might  a  stricken  subject  inquire  what  experience 
the  queen  of  this  realm  has  had  along  the  lines  of  poverty  ? 

ROSE — I  have  had  so  much  of  the  other  thing  that  I  positively 
think  a  little  grinding  poverty  would  be  refreshing  for  a 
change.  It  is  so  tiresome  to  get  everything  you  want  for  the 

asking just  by  putting  out  your  hand!  [suiting  her  words 

by  a  gesture] 

KENNETH — [promptly  putting  his  hand  in  hers]  There's  one  thing 
you  didn't  get  for  the  asking.  Very  important  too! 

ROSE — [retreating  with  her  hands  behind  her]  That  does  sort  of 
balance  things,  doesn't  it?  [airily]  I  have  got  so  into  the  habit 
of  taking  things,  however,  that  I  suppose  I  took  you  as  a 
matter  of  course,  along  with  the  rest! 

KENNETH — It's  fortunate  for  me,  under  those  circumstances, 
that  I  arrived  first. 

ROSE — Oh,  there  wouldn't  have  been  very  many!  Not  many 
men  would  want  to  be  burdened  with  an  ugly  old  blind  wife. 

KENNETH — Come,  come,  I  can't  allow  any  such  remarks 
about  my  future  wife!  Why  do  you  insist  upon  making  your 
self  out  so  ugly?  That  doesn't  speak  very  well  for  my  good 
taste. 

ROSE — [pompously]  It  must  have  been  my  superior  intellect,  of 
course,  that  attracted  you.  The  triumph  of  mind  over  mat 
ter.  You've  seen  by  my  pictures  what  a  thin,  hope/ess  little 
girl  I  was.  To  be  sure  Mama  would  console  me  by  telling 
me  that  sometimes  ugly  ducklings  turned  into  swans;  but  I 
must  say  I  don't  feel  very  swan-like!  [flapping  her  arms  up 
and  down] 

KENNETH — You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  not  seen  yourself 
yet?  What  marvelous  self-denial!  Not  even  one  little  peep 
in  the  glass  ? 

ROSE — Not  a  peep!  Didn't  I  say  that  you  were  to  be  first?  It 
was  a  temptation,  though,  when  my  hair  was  being  brushed, 

[89] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

not  to  look.  I  had  to  sit  with  my  back  to  the  mirror  and  my 
eyes  tight  shut,  I  was  so  afraid  I  might  turn  around  by  mis 
take. 

KENNETH — Just  think  now,  how  much  time  you  are  wasting! 
You  might  have  been  quite  well  acquainted  with  your  own 
face  by  this  time,  and  mine  too! 

ROSE — Mine  will  not  interest  me  much  if  you  have  been  de 
ceiving  me  about  yours. 

KENNETH — [stirring  uneasily]  Do  you  know  what  you  will  see 
when  you  look  in  the  glass?  Instead  of  a  swan,  a  nice  little 
white  goose!  Of  all  the  absurd  notions  I  have  ever  heard, 
that  is  the  worst!  To  object  to  a  man  because  of  his  good 
looks!  Why,  most  girls  think  of  that  first. 

ROSE — Indeed  they  do  not!  That's  a  man's  idea  of  girls.  Hand 
some  men  are  apt  to  be  vain  and  frivolous,  and  amount  to 
nothing  at  all,  because  they  must  always  be  thinking  of  them 
selves.  Besides  it  would  never  do  for  you  to  be  too  nice 
looking  for  poor  little  dowdy  me !  I  like  to  think  that  no  one 
would  have  you  but  just  me. 

KENNETH — [amused]  Oh,  then  you  took  me  out  of  pity,  did  you? 
Let  us  have  no  question  of  looks  between  you  and  me.  Come, 
off  with  the  bandage!  Remember,  I  have  never  had  a  good 
look  at  your  eyes.  Who  knows?  I  may  not  be  at  all  pleased 
with  them.  What  then? 

ROSE — Oh,  you  can't  frighten  me  that  way!  I  would  just  tie 
them  up  again  when  you  were  around.  Why  don't  you  sing: 
"Lend  me  thy  fillet,  Love,  and  make  me  blind  like  thee!"? 

KENNETH — I  would  if  I  could!  [ROSE  sits  again  in  the  large 
chair.}  Rose!  [He  rises  determinedly  y  and  goes  to  her.] 

ROSE— [startled}  Yes? 

KENNETH — Today  may  be  the  turning  point  in  our  lives."  We 
must  leave  nothing  untold  between  us.  There  is  something 
I  must  tell  you.  I  should  have  told  you  before,  but 

ROSE — [nervously]  Kenneth!    What  is  it? 

KENNETH — Nothing  to  startle  you,  dear,  only  this.     You^have 

[90] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

taken  pleasure  in  believing  me  poor in  thinking  that  your 

money  was  to  take  care  of  us  by  and  by but 

ROSE — But  what?  [starting  up] 

KENNETH — My  only  claim  to  being  "poor  and  struggling"  lies 
in  the  quality  of  my  work,  I  fear.  My  pictures  are  slow  to 
sell,  but  in  the  meantime  we  shall  not  starve. 

ROSE — Then  you're  not  poor,  but  rich?  Oh,  Kenneth,  and  I 
trusted  you  so! 

KENNETH — I'm  afraid  that  my  father  left  me  quite  "comfort 
ably  off." 

ROSE — [sits  dolefully  in  the  big  chair]  And  I  was  to  take  care  of 
the  studio,  and  cook  our  little  meals  in  the  chafing-dish,  and 

perhaps  once  a  week  we  would  have  chicken  for  a   treat 

and and  I  was  to  do  all  that  while  you  worked  and  studied 

and  grew  famous. 

KENNETH — You  shall  do  all  that  and  more.  And  I  shall  study 
and  work.  As  for  becoming  famous,  the  ungrateful  world 
does  not  always  give  genius  such  as  mine  its  due!  [with  an 
ironical  shrug] 

ROSE — Is is  there  anything  else?  But  that  is  enough,  [rising] 

I  am  so  nervous !     I  don't  think  I'll  take  off  the  bandage  today. 

KENNETH — [imploringly]  Rose! 

ROSE — [shrinking  from  him]  I'm I'm  afraid  of  you.     You 

seem  different  today.     Let  me  wait  until  tomorrow. 

KENNETH — Another  eternity,  Rose?  Come,  be  sensible.  You 
are  not  at  all  like  yourself.  I  am  the  same  man  you  have  trusted 
for  two  years.  Surely  it  is  myself  you  care  for  and  not  my 
looks  nor  my  possible  fortune! 

ROSE — How  can  I  be  myself  when  everything  is  going  to  be 

different?     I thought  I  knew  you  [imploringly]  but  I  can 

not  tell  how  it  will  be  with  me.     Suppose  I  don't  like  you 
after  all!    Oh,  Kenneth!    [She  turns  away  from  him.    Pause.] 

KENNETH — [in  a  hurt,  repressed  voice]  I  didn't  know  it  was  a 
question  of  liking. 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

ROSE — [turning  quickly]  Forgive  me!  You  can't  know  what  it  is, 
to  be  emerging  suddenly  from  the  shadows.  It  frightens  me. 
[She  goes  to  the  big  chair  and  leans  against  it,  nervously.]  Stay 
there,  please !  [She  begins  to  untie  the  bandage.] 

KENNETH — Shall  I  help  you? 

ROSE — No,  no!  Stay  where  you  are!  [She  takes  of  the  bandage 
slowly,  keeping  her  eyes  turned  from  him,  and  shading  them 
from  the  light  until  they  become  accustomed  to  it.  Then  she 
faces  him.] 

KENNETH — [smiles  and  stretches  out  his  hand]  "Lend  me  thy 
fillet,  Love!" 

ROSE — [gazes  at  him  in  silence,  her  expression  of  curiosity  changing 
to  one  of  displeasure  and  bewilderment.  Turning  away  with 
a  gesture  of  dislike  she  leans  her  head  upon  her  arms  on  the  back 
of  the  chair.] 

KENNETH — [impulsively  going  toward  her]  Rose!  My  Queen- 
Rose! 

ROSE — Don't  touch  me! Don't  come  near  me!  [She  begins 

to  sob.  KENNETH  walks  up  and  down  nervously.  She  keeps 
her  face  hid,  and  when  he  comes  near  her  she  shrinks  away.] 

You're you're  not  at  all  what  I  thought  you.  You're 

not  a  bit  ugly and  you're  glad  that  you're  not.  You've 

been  treating  me  like  a  child  all  this  time,  telling  me  fibs 

and 

KENNETH — [for  the  first  time  becoming  impatient]  If  you  act  like 
a  silly  child,  Rose,  you  should  be  treated  like  one. 

ROSE — I  am  not  silly!  If  you  deceive  me  in  little  things  you 
will  in  the  more  important  ones.  I  could  never  trust  you  in 
anything! 

KENNETH — I'm  sorry  that  my  conduct  toward  you  has  not  been 
worthy  of  trust!  [He  walks  back  and  forth.] 

ROSE — [peeping  at  him  when  his  back  is  turned,  but  hiding  her 
face  again  when  he  comes  toward  her]  You  have  thought  it  a 
good  joke,  I  suppose,  to  take  such  an  advantage  of  me.  If 
you  treat  me  so  now,  how  will  it  be  when  we  are  married? 

[9*1 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

KENNETH — [intensely,  going  to  her]  This  is  more  than  I  can  stand. 
Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?  For  God's  sake,  Rose, 
don't  try  me  too  far! 

ROSE — [frightened^  I 1  never  knew  before  that  you  had  a 

temper! 

KENNETH — [with  repressed  anger]  Yes 1  have  a  temper,  and 

I've  held  it  in  check  long  enough.  Am  I  a  stone  that  I  should 
give  no  sign  when  you  trample  on  my  most  sacred  feelings? 

ROSE — [breathlessly]  Kenneth! 

KENNETH — You  have  thought  nothing  of  my  feelings  during  all 
this  time  of  suspense.  Has  it  been  nothing  to  me,  do  you 
think?  Nothing  to  be  criticised  and  pulled  to  pieces  accord 
ing  to  a  girl's  foolish  whim? Perhaps  my  idol  has  fallen 

too who  can  say? 

ROSE — [imploringly]  Kenneth! 

KENNETH — [restraining  himself,  formally]  If  your  feelings  have 
undergone  such  a  change  toward  me  it  must  be  painful  to  you 
to  prolong  this  interview.  I  shall  leave  you  to  reason  it  out 
for  yourself.  I  think  that  when  you  have  looked  back  over 
the  past  year  and  realized  all  the  happiness  it  has  held  for  us 

you  will  not  allow  a  foolish  whim  to  destroy  it. If  you  send 

for  me  when  you  have  decided  I  will  come.  If  you  have  found 
any  good  reason  for  breaking  our  engagement  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  accept  it.  [There  is  a  pause  in  which  he  gazes 
down  at  her  sadly.]  Good-by!  Good-by!  [He  goes  out  C, 
forgetting  to  take  his  hat.] 

ROSE — [remains  in  the  same  attitude  for  a  short  time,  then  raises 
her  head  and  wipes  her  eyes.  She  looks  toward  the  door  in  a 

startled  way .]  Good-by?  [faintly]  Good-by,  Kenneth? Was 

it  my  Kenneth  who  spoke  like  that  to  me?  [She  goes  to  the 
portieres  and  looks  off,  then  comes  slowly  back  to  the  table.] 
What  am  I  to  do  now?  Oh,  that  I  might  be  blind  again! 

[She  sits  at  right  of  the  table,  and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Tableau  curtain,  or  dark  stage,  for  one  minute,  during  which  a 
woman  s  voice  is  heard  singing:] 

[931 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  BLIND 

"Lend  me  thy  fillet,  Love, 
I  would  no  longer  see; 
Cover  mine  eyelids  close  awhile, 
And  make  me  blind  like  thee! 

Lend  her  thy  fillet,  Love, 

Let  her  no  longer  see; 
If  there  is  hope  for  me  at  all, 

She  must  be  blind  like  thee! 

She  must  be  blind  like  thee! 

(Music  by  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin.) 

[ROSE  is  discovered  wandering  about  the  room  gazing  wonderingly 
at  everything.] 

ROSE — Was  it  true? Was  it  true  that  I  behaved  like  a  silly 

child? How  strange  it  seems,  this  room! Perhaps  he 

thought  it  would  make  me  happier  to  deceive  me,  and  humor 
me  in  everything,  till  I'm  tired  of  myself  and  of  everything 
else,  [coming  to  the  table]  Oh,  here  are  my  roses!  [She  puts  her 
arms  impulsively  around  them.]  Dear,  dear  flowers!  You  are 

only  one  of  the  kind  thoughts  he  has  had  for  me and  I  have 

sent  him  away!  [snatching  up  KENNETH'S  photograph]  His  pic 
ture!  I  remember  when  he  had  it  taken  last  year  for  mother. 

What  clear  eyes!    They  seem  to  see  right  through  me. 

[slowly]  I  think  if  I  had  those  eyes  to  help  me  I  might  be  good. 

And  I  have  had  them for  two  years,  "The  very  eyes 

of  me!"  [She  takes  up  her  own  picture.]  I  suppose  this  is  me! 
[examining  it  closely]  How  silly  I  look  with  my  eyes  cast  down! 
[She  walks  slowly  about  the  room  comparing  the  two  pictures.] 
It's  rather  nice-looking  though.  Certainly  better  than  two 
ugly  old  frumps.  [She  suddenly  finds  herself  in  front  of  the 
mirror.  Startle  d,  she  gazes  at  her  reflection^  So  you  are  Rose 

Elliston! The  blind  girl blind  in  more  ways  than  one! 

[smiling  and  nodding  into  the  mirror]  I  had  no  idea  how  nice 
I  was.  [She  compares  KENNETH'S  picture  with  her  own  reflec 
tion.]  Why  should  I  be  selfish  and  want  to  monopolize  all 
the  good  looks  in  the  family?  A  little  goose  he  said  I  would 

see.     More  than  that a  big  idiot,  not  to  know  when  I  was 

well  off!  [to  his  picture]  Why,  I  know  you  better  already.    I 

[94] 


WHEN  LOVE  IS 

wish  you  would  come  back!  You  said  you  would  come  if  I 
sent  for  you.  [She  puts  the  photographs  on  the  table,  and  sees 
KENNETH'S  hat  where  he  has  left  it  on  the  chair  near.  She  joy 
fully  catches  it  up,  caressing  it,  then  stealthily  hides  it  beneath 
the  couch  cushions,  very  much  pleased  with  herself.  She  looks 
timidly  through  the  portieres,  then  goes  out  L.] 

[Enter  KENNETH,  C.  He  hesitates  until  he  sees  that  the  room 
is  empty.  He  searches  vainly  for  his  hat.} 

KENNETH — Where  the  dickens? I'm  going  to  have  about  the 

best  mother-in-law  a  man  ever  had!  [taking  up  ROSE'S  picture] 
She  says  I  must  be  patient,  dear,  and  leave  you  to  yourself  a 
little  while,  [sitting  despondently  at  right  of  the  table]  How  long 
will  it  be,  my  Queen-Rose? 

[Enter  ROSE,  L.  She  comes  quietly  forward,  hesitating,  looking 
at  KENNETH  first  from  one  side  then  from  the  other.  Catching 
sight  of  the  bandage  on  the  big  chair  where  she  has  left  it  she 
snatches  it  up  and  quickly  slips  it  over  his  eyes,  tying  it  and 
singing,  gaily:} 

"Lend  him  thy  fillet,  Love, 

Let  him  no  longer  see! 
If  there  be  chance  for  me  at  all, 

He  must  be  blind  like  thee! 

He  must  be  blind  like  thee!" 

KENNEHT — [Starts,  then  puts  up  his  hands  and  catches  hers.  She 
frees  herself  and  runs  back  to  the  portieres,  where  she  stands 
watching  him  while  he  takes  of  the  bandage.  He  speaks  seri 
ously.}  What  does  this  mean,  Rose? 

ROSE — [smiling  nervously}  It  means it  means that  there 

is  a  blindness  more  dense  than  that  of  the  eyes,  Kenneth,  and 

it  has  lain  on  my  soul  too  long.     But,  if  you  can  forgive you 

can  lead  me  away  from  it into  the  light of  your  love! 

[She  stretches  out  her  hand.]     Come,  mother  is  waiting  for  us ! 

[KENNETH  kisses  her  hand,  and  together  they  disappear  through 
the  portieres.] 


[951 


EPILOGUE 

Reader,  are  you  a  trifle  more  complete  than  you  were  in  human 
experience? 

Actor,  have  you  lived,  and  given  of  your  knowledge  as  you  prom 
ised  when  this  partnership  was  formed? 

If  so  the  venture  has  been  successful,  and  the  third  partner  is 
satisfied. 

Go  back  to  your  mountains,  you  characters  who  came  down  the 
rocky  trails  at  our  bidding.  Pull  down  the  shades  in  the  living- 
rooms,  so  that  we  cannot  peep  in.  Lock  the  door  of  the  poor  hall 
bedroom,  draw  the  curtains  in  the  gilded  cafe.  For  a  little  while 
we  have  shared  your  lives,  and  you  gave  us  nothing  but  the  truth. 
We  thank  you,  and  let  you  go.  The  curtain  is  down!  Encour 
aged  we  start  forth  to  find  material  for  another  square  of  patch 
work! 

H.  H.  H. 


197] 


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9  1919 


SEP  4  19I9 
1920 

13Dec'49J(t 


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